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B3IBS<&ATS W« 


TO MY FATHER 
CAPTAIN S. E. HOWARD 



who told his little daughter her first 
woodchuck story. 

Not to his memory, but to his val- 
iant spirit, which still lives in the hearts 
of his friends, but most of all in the 
heart of the grown-up little daughter, I 
dedicate this book. 




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r INTRODUCTION 

' TO W. CHUCK SSmO,. 


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9 p " ■ ^ I HERE has always been a Wood in the Chuck family, 

■ J since the beginning of time. 

“"’x The first Wood Chuck was n’t so very proud of 
his name, but as the years went on, it became much 
better known in the farming world. Almost every 
farmer knows the Chuck family. They are well known 
Animals. Every farm has its Chucks. Every orchard 
has its Chucks. Every pasture has its Chucks. 

All the Chucks have the same business, gardening. It ’s a very busy 
business and one w hich they never neglect. Every farmer wall say that, 
too. They ’tend to business. 

Nearly all the Chucks live on farms. They don’t like cities. If 
by any chance they do live in a city, they are always in the Zoological 
business. They are never seen on the street. 

In the country they live in little bits of hills, about what might be 
called doll’s hills, they are so small. The Chucks love these doll’s hills. 
Their little round front doors open into the sides of them. 

They have a way of their own. They never build on, but always in 
a hill. 

Chucks are friendly domestic animals. They love kitchen gardens 
and little radish patches and neat onion rows. They will spend half 
their time in a nice little garden, digging busily, quiet and peaceful. They 
love quiet and peace. A few Bunny Rabbits, a browm Thrasher or tw r o, 
and a Chuck family often dig together for days in the same garden. 

Chucks do not care for the B. Wow Dog family. The B. Wow Dogs 
are noisy. Chucks always say they never can understand why farmers 
take such delight in the B. Wow Dogs, large clumsy animals, who never 
garden. “Give us,” says the W. Chuck family, “a garden, a decent lot 
of beets, but no B. Wow Dogs.” 










Mr^WoocL CWk 

£ad a Jbad cold. 



G randpapa wood chuck had 

put his paw down. The picnic was to 
be on a sunny day. As for sitting on 
. the wet grass, he wouldn’t. A pretty sight it 
would be, too, to see the whole Chuck family 
starting off in rubber boots! The children 
thought it was rather hard. Wood 3rd loved 
his rubber boots. Cherry had a new umbrella 
and Chestnut Chuck, her twin, had new rubber mittens. 

Chestnut was the one who talked in a thick, wooly voice and always said 
the same thing over and over. He kept mumbling, “mittens, mittens, ittens, 
ittens” — so that Cherry, at last, forgot what he was talking about and ran 
to see if Mrs. Cat and the little Cats were coming for a call. 

Peachy was the baby and picnics were quite new to her. But she was 
just as sorry as any one that they had to wait. For three days it rained hard. 
In fact it rained so hard, even rubber mittens wouldn’t have helped much. 
Mr. Wood Chuck, Jr., the children’s father, had a bad cold. His head was 
tied up in a piece of red flannel and he was a little cross. 

It was dull, for the Chucks couldn’t even get out for a walk. All around 
the house, which was built in a nice little hill, was a lake. It was too deep 
for rubber boots and the Chucks don’t care for boats. Inside it was very 
dark. Chuck houses never have any windows and Wood 3rd, who was al- 
ways expected to get the lights, had not caught any fire flies. 

So they sat and wondered when it would stop raining. Chucks wonder 
a great deal. It is just as good a game to them as tin soldiers or dolls are to 
you. 


CHERRY" 

CHUCK 

THE. 

CHEERFUL!^. 




But on the fourth morning Cherry got out of bed quite quickly. Chucks 
never do anything very fast, unless it i£ running away from Mr. B. Wow 
Dog. Cherry poked her head out of the chimney, which was nearer than 
the door. 

• “The sun shines,” she squeaked. “But, don’t you come up this cnim- 
ney — any of you.” 

“Just like a sister,” said Chestnut, “does it herself and won’t let me.” 

However, she came down very soon and then the fur began to fly. 
Every one got into his fur boots and fur coat as fast as he could. Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr., took the red flannel from his neck and the crossness from his 
face. Grandpapa rubbed his paws with hand sapolio and got his best hat. 
Then both of them went up and sat on the top of the house. They put their 
backs against the chimney and waited. 

Cherry, of course, had forty -nine things do to to get ready. Woodie 3rd 
and Chestnut and Peachy were very much under paw. So she planned a 
plan for each of them. , 

Woodie 3rd was to go to — • — but just now I shan’t tell you where. 

Chestnut was to get but I won’t tell you what. 

Peachy was to have — — you just can’t know how many, for those are 
all some more stories about the Chuck family. 

Cherry hurried and hurried. You see she was Mr. W. Chuck, Jr’s, 
biggest daughter. So, of course, she must leave the house tidy and carefully 



Swept and swept , 


she must 
pack the 
lunch bas- 
ket. The 
Chucks 
were so 
fond of pic- 
nics they 
had a beau- 
tiful lunch 


basket. It had all kinds of little cubby holes for sandwiches and other things 
It really would have made a nice doll’s house, if it hadn’t been a lunch 
basket. 


First, Cherry swept with her tail. You have no idea how handy it is to 


be able to do a bit of sweeping any time. You could do a crossing as you 
walked over it and never wet your feet. So she swept and swept. Then she 
dusted and dusted with a nice fresh maple leaf. When one was worn out 
she got a new one. 

After a while she put her head out of the door. The day looked even 
more sunny. The lilac wood and the forest syringa bushes near by were 
waiting quietly for something. A little breeze came blowing by, so gentle, 
that it seemed as soft as rose leaves. 

Cherry could hardly wait for the picnic to begin. She wished the other 
children were there to feel the baby breeze. She was afraid by the time 
they came back, it might have grown up into a big wind. Then she thought 
she saw Wood 3rd coming and she ran in to get the lunch basket. 

She opened the cupboard and took out a little ladder. The lunch basket 
lived on a hook way up on the chimney. Cherry went up the ladder, as fast 
as she could go, and put her paw up for the basket. 

It was g-o-n-e. 








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;• PBETIY "El 

c PEACHY/ 
el-.CHUCK. 'a 

T HIS is a very little story 
because Peachy was 
such a little Chuck. 
Cherry had planned that 
Peachy was to get the dishes. If 
she got them very nicely, she 
was to have three little beets. 
That was just the same as 
having three chocolate creams. 
Peachy rolled over and over 
with joy. The dishes were such 
T _ % fun — acorn cups and leaf plates. 

I hate having tn y tail brushed She was very good while cherry 

got her ready. But even the beets didn’t help when it came to her tail. “I 
hate having my tail brushed,” shouted Peachy at the top of her lungs. 
“Only two beets,” said Grandpapa, who happened to be passing. 
Peachy never said another word, she knew Grandpapa Chuck was an 
animal of his word. She cried sadly into a big plantain leaf. She had meant 
to make a new party dress for her doll, Sarah Mud-Turtle, out of that leaf. 
But she cried so hard, she ruined it. 

Sarah Mud-Turtle was a lovely doll. She was so real. Her arms and 
legs moved. It was difficult to make clothes for her. Her arms never 
would stay in her sleeves. She was always drawing them in. So awkward 
about shaking hands, too. Half the time, there was no hand to shake. Still, 
Sarah was a good doll. 

Peachy cried still harder when she thought about the ruination of 
Sarah’s dress. Cherry was ready to give up the picnic. She had thoughts 
about no dishes. She almost wanted to shake Peachy when, all of a sudden, 
Peachy stopped and said, “I will be a good Chuck.” 

This sounded very~nice, but Cherry wasn’t sure about it. Peachy was 
good in such a hurry. She was afraid Peachy had a plan. Peachy’s plans 






were sure to be troublesome. Cherry meant to find out. Then she heard 
Grandpapa Chuck calling. When she came back, Peachy was gone. Gone 
with her tail unbrushed. Gone with the plantain leaf. Gone with Sarah 
Mud-Turtle. But Cherry was so busy, she had to let Peachy be gone. 

It was true Peachy had a plan. While Cherry was brushing and Peachy 
was crying, she saw something. It was the lunch basket. Grandpapa had 
taken it down from its home on the chimney. He meant to help Cherry. 

Peachy had always wanted to put lier paw on that lunch basket. 

No one was in sight. She grabbed the plantain leaf. She clutched 
Sarah Mud-Turtle. She seized the lunch basket, and ran, and ran, and ran. 

At first, when Cherry couldn’t find the lunch basket, she never thought 
of Peachy. Grandpapa saw her hunting and asked her what for. He told 
her he had taken the lunch basket down to help her get ready for the picnic. 

As quick as a wink, Cherry knew Peachy’s plan. 

So she ran, and ran, and ran. After a while she heard Peachy’s voice 
saying, “Now, Sarah, this is your new house. This is Sandwich parlor, and 
this is Tea room and this is Pickle bedroom.” You see there were places 
for all these things in the lunch basket. 


Cherry gave a loud squeak, and pounced on Sarah Mud-Turtle. Her 
happy home was taken away. 

Sarah felt like — a Mud-Turtle. * 



Now 
^'Sarah., tLis is 
jpottj? mew Louse. 


To pass your time; to bring you luck; 
Just wait to hear of “ Chestnut Chuck! ” 


Peachy felt like — a 
spanking. And Cherry, 
you can’t write how 
Cherry felt. There were 
no dishes. There were no 
beets. After all, Peachy 
meant well. She only 
wanted to be kind to 
Sarah Mud-Turtle after 
ruining her best dress. 




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CEiricI; 

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Lost l ! ! ! 



O F COURSE Chestnut was a very 
slow animal. He pad, padded along 
with the slowest little steps you ever 
saw. If he had been told to mind quickly he 
never could have done it. So, Grandpapa 
Chuck and Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., always said, 

“mind slowly” to Chestnut, and Chestnut 
always did. He was not really bad, but he 
had a very thick fur coat which made it hard 
to move fast. 

It was difficult for Cherry to give Chestnut something to do. She 
knew he would not get it done before the picnic began. So, it couldn’t 
be anything that just had to be ready, like sandwiches. If fact, though I 
said they all hurried out of bed because the sun was shining, Cherry really 
had to use on Chestnut all the means that make people wake up — such as 
wet sponges, and pulling off bed clothes, 

“Do you think,” said Cherry to Papa W. Chuck, Jr., “that I could 
send Chestnut for the corn? It isn’t the direction Woodie will have to take.” 

“No,” said Papa W. Chuck, Jr., “send him for the potatoes, he is too 
slow for any fast growing vegetable like corn.” 

Cherry almost cried at that, you remember Chestnut was her twin, 
but, she didn’t quite cry, for she thought how Chestnut would hate hurrying 
to pick the corn before it grew too high for him. When she asked him to get 
the potatoes he was very happy. He said he liked getting potatoes, they were 
so near his paws. 



He said he would start right off when he had blacked his boots, and 
brushed his hair, and combed his back, and washed his teeth, and seen how 
pleasant it was, and thought about wearing his rubber mittens. 

Cherry was much upset by this list. But Grandpapa Chuck took Chest- 
nut firmly in paw. He showed him it would be three weeks- from yesterday 
when he got started.* 

Chestnut said he could get on without doing anything but thinking 
about the rubber mittens. Grandpapa said he could think about them on the 
way to the potatoes so Chestnut said he would. Cherry patted him good- 
by and off he went. People with paws pat more than they kiss. 

He crawled out the front door and over the lawn by the lilac grove into 
a forest of enormous apple trees. All the time he was thinking busily of 
whether he needed his rubber mittens. Everything was as quiet as a mouse. 
After a while, Chestnut forgot to think about the rubber mittens and began 
to think of the mouse quietness. 

Just as he was thinking that, he saw some one coming. Sure enough, it 
was Mr. Mouse. He was. taking off his hat very politely and saying in a very 
squeaky, small voice, “Good-morning, Master Chestnut Chuck, good- 
morning.” 

Poor Chestnut hunted for his cap. But after he had run his paw over 
his head several times, he began to remember he hadn’t worn any. So, 
he. said something which sounded like “Mornin’, Mr Mouse. ’Ice day for 
’unting, Mr. Mouse.” 

Mr. Mouse didn’t see what ’ice had to do with it. Of course, you and I 
know Chestnut meant nice , only his fur collar got in the way. 


But Mr. Mouse did understand “’unting.” 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” said Mr. Mouse, “best of all, Mrs. Pussy 
Cat was taken away this afternoon. I saw her go myself, from the rat 
hole in the corner of the barn.” 

“However did it happen?” said Chestnut, so much surprised, that he 
took the fur collar out of his mouth. 

Mr. Mouse came up very close to Chestnut and whispered, “She ate too 
freely of cream and left paw-marks on the pantry shelf. It will be a lesson 
to me,” said Mr. Mouse solemnly, “never to leave paw-marks. To you, 
too, Chestnut.” 

“To me, too,” said Chestnut, “never to leave paw-marks.” 

Then they both bowed very gravely to each other and said, at the same 
time, “never to leave paw-marks.” • 

As he’ went along, Chestnut felt sorry for Mrs. Pussy Cat. It is so easy 
to leave paw -marks. He would have to dig the potatoes with his paws, too. 
What should he do? He thought and thought. He even thought about the 
rubber mittens. They would not have left paw-marks, but rubber mitten- 
marks. Why hadn’t he worn them? He thought of going home to get 
them. 

Then, all of a sudden, he thought the worst thought of all. He didn’t 
know that blackberry bush. It was a new one. He had never seen that big 
rock. It looked like Mr. Bear. This grass was scratchy and yellow. 
There was none like that near the potatoes. This wall was not made of 
stones with cubby holes inside. It was flat and shiny and red. There 
were no lilac trees nor syringa groves. 

He was L-O-S-T. 


CLe^stnui Ctoct can say tfiis. 

CsnyOHP? Winky, blinky, thinky chuck. 

*|^ac=====ao|> Jibbery, jabbery, juniper juck. 

Paddy, pawry, puttery luck. 
Winky, blinky, Chestnut Chuck. 




JIF. 

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W OOD 3rd was hunting for some really 
good onions. He had one eye on 
the onions and one on the home of 
Mr. B. Wow Dog. It is very difficult to get 
good vegetables in this way. An onion takes 
all your attention. Even then, it often makes 
you cry. Woodie knew no picnic ever began 
with anything but onions — little ones on the 
end of lovely green stalks. He pawed and 
poked around. Just as he was finding some 
rather nice ones, he heard a frightening sound. 

It was the voice of Mr. B. Wow Dog. You should have seen Woodie 
run into a near-by wall. Cherry had told him not to play in walls, but this 
was no game. It was running away from being eaten. Besides, it was 
getting late and according to the plan Cherry had planned, Woodie was to 
get the lunch. Of course a picnic is the lunch. Have no lunch and what 
would the picnic be? Nothing. Just nothing. Everything must be fresh. 
Yesterday’s beets wouldn’t do at all and is anything poorer eating than an 
old lettuce leaf? 

That is the reason Woodie sat trembling in the stone wall. He was 
getting the lunch. After a long time he put one ear out. Not a sound. 
Then he put both ears out. Perfect quiet. After that he crawled out. He 


WOOD 

CHUCK 


His <£oo& 

A Lock. bS 



Until lie could. 
JEiarcfly walk. 


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There, too, went Mr. B. Wow Doc? 




looked down the long lane that led to the road. There was Farmer Cross 
Patch driving gaily away. There, too, went Mr. B. Wow Dog trotting 
along behind the wagon. 

“Three squeaks,” said Woodie, “we can have what we like for lunch.” 

He fell to digging onions as fast as he could. Then he got some beets 
which grew on one side of the onions. Grandpapa Chuck liked pickled beets. 
Then he got some carrots which grew on the other side. All the Chucks 
loved carrot sandwiches. He* kept on picking and picking until he could 
hardly walk. But he still had to get the corn. You know Chestnut was 
too slow to get it. 

On the way he met Mr. and Mrs. Goose and the two young gooses. 
Master Squawk and Miss Squawkanna. Yes, there were Squawk and 
Squawkanna, all in white clothes. Squawk had grown since Woodie saw 
him last. He took a collar almost as high as his father’s. 

“Of all the names in the world,’’ thought Woodie. “Why didn’t they 
give them the same one since they are so much alike? Family names, I 
suppose,” said he to himself. He had hardly said, “How-do-you-do?” 
(Geese never shake paws; they can’t very well, not having any), when, 
suddenly, a hard, round, red object fell among them. 

Mr. and Mrs. Goose hissed. Squawk yelled, “Squawkanna, ’’-'and 
Squawkanna shrieked, “Squawk.” The Goose family waddled off as fast 
as they could go, all scolding at once. They have very loud voices. Wood 
3rd was scared, but he didn’t run. There was a smell in the air he liked. 

It was over toward the 
red object. He crawled 
over to it. The smell 
grew better every minute. 
It didn’t move. All of 
a sudden, he sat up 
quickly and looked at it. 
It was a big red apple! 

Wasn’t that grand? 
To have the best dessert 
of all fall at your paws. 
After this he started off 
again for the corn. He 



had not gone far when he came into a large grassy field. There was no one 
there but Mr. Horse and a huge mowing machine. They were not together 
so he spoke to the horse first. He bowed very nicely and said, “Good- 
morning.” But the mowing machine never spoke; angry, probably, be- 
cause he spoke to the horse first. Mowing machines are apt to be rather 
tempery. Woodie loved talking to animals he met. He liked talking 
anyway. As he went along, he hummed a little song about cabbages, and 
beets, and parsnips. All of a sudden, he saw a queer brown object coming. 
It moved very slowly. Yet it did move. 

It was an animal, but it was wrong side up. As he came a little nearer 
he heard a sad little voice squeaking, “Never to leave paw-marks but rubber 
mitten-marks.” 

There was the lost Chestnut Chuck. He had grown so frightened and 
had thought so much about paw-marks, that he decided not to make any. So 
he was rolling along on his back. Woodie shook him and then as a punish- 
ment made him carry all the lunch ! All the way home you could hear from 
’way down in his fur collar, and behind the vegetables, “Never to leave paw- 
marks, butTubber mitten-marks.” 




chuck phil°5°phy: 


A Chuck is not known by his best hat. 

A beet in the turn is worth two 
in the back. 

The voice of Squawkanna gathers no 
Mouse Quietness. 

Love me, love my Sarah Mud-Turtle. 




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4 T LAST they were ready to start, 

/\ Grandpapa in his best hat, 

JL V. with his paws scrubbed with 
hand sapolio. 

Papa W. Chuck, Jr., without his 
sneezes. Chestnut in his rubber mit- 
tens. Even though it was sunny, he 
never meant to leave them at home 
again. Wood 3rd with an onion top in 
his buttonhole. Peachy grasping Sarah 
Mud-Turtle by one paw. And Cherry 
with the lunch basket. 

The lilac grove and the syringa 
forest waved them good-by. Mr. 

Mouse, who was going by squeaked, 

“Happy picnic.” It seemed as if every 
one was glad that the picnic had begun. 

Grandpapa kept waving his best hat. 

Even Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., looked pleasant. The children, of course, hoppity- 
skipped all the way. Every little while they stopped to hunt for Sarah 
Mud-Turtle who had a very bad habit of getting lost. Peachy would forget 
and hold her by her dress and she would fall through. 

Of course, the picnic was down by the Lake. Picnics always are down 
by the Lake. No one can tell just why. They always have been. Across 
the lane they went by Farmer Cross Patch’s house. Then by a stone wall, 
until they came to the Lake. It was quite a long walk. The Chucks never 
drive. You probably never even saw one in an electric car. So, by the 
time they got to the picnic place, they were very hungry. 

The picnic was in a fairy grove of little Christmas trees. The table 
was a big flat stone. There were soft green moss chairs. All around grew 
little checkerberry leaves with red berries. 

In the trees overhead was a squirrel village. By putting their heads 


© ® & e, T&e ® © 

CHUCKS' 

bHCNIciJ 




very far back the Chucks could see the Squirrels running up Elm Boulevard 
or walking through Beech Path. Once in a while they chattered very fast 
and threw a nut down on the Chucks’ heads. 

There was a great hurry to get out the lunch. Grandpapa hung his best 
hat on a limb. Chestnut put his rubber mittens in his pocket. Cherry 
hitched Sarah Mud-Turtle to a Christmas tree. The lunch, spread on the 
flat stone, was a magnificent sight. There were carrot sandwiches, pickled 
beets, lettuce salad, roasted corn, and the big red apple for dessert. Cherry 
and Wood 3rd ran around waiting on everybody. Peachy had a bib made 
of a maple leaf fastened on with a pine needle. No one missed the acorn cups. 
They had forgotten to bring something to drink. 

After lunch they all sang, 

“ Cabbages and squashes: 

Beets and corn 
We've loved them dearly 
Since we were born.” 

But before they were really through one verse, their heads were all 
nodding. Peachy went to sleep on a lovely bed of partridge berries. Chest- 
nut and Cherry cuddled in a soft ball with their heads on each other’s 
shoulders. Papa W. Chuck, Jr., leaned his head against a tree and slept 

aloud with his mouth open. 
Grandpapa laid his paws on his 
chest and started a nap. Wood 
3rd was the only wide-awake 
one. He loved to see the water 
shining in the sun. Once in a 
while he could see Mr. B. 
Bass jump out of the water. 
Sometimes he was sure he saw 
one of Mr. H. Pout’s horns. 
The water lap, lapped the 
stones very softly and made a 
happy noise. It made you feel 
like dreaming about gentle little 
songs. 

All of a sudden there was 


Mr. B. Wow Dojh 



a fearful noise. Every Chuck waked up in a second. Wood 3rd came up 
from the lake crying, “Mr. B. Wow Dog.” Even in his fright he was too 
polite to say just Dog. Grandpapa hurriedly gathered up Peachy and 
Sarah Mud-Turtle. Cherry grabbed Grandpapa’s best hat. Wood 3rd 
took the lunch basket. They all went home as if they were running a race. 
When they got there who should they find but Chestnut. He was so afraid 
of losing his rubber mittens, he had run faster than any one. There he 
sat, fanning himself and saying in a woolier voice than ever, 

“Saved my rubber mittens! Saved my rubber mittens— ittens — 
ittens.” 



®KK- 


O NE onion does n’t make a garden. 

Mr. B. Wow Dog is better to 
hear than to feel. 

It’s a small hole that won’t help in 
time of need. 

The early Chuck eludes the farmer. 






T HE morning after the picnic was 
extremely trying. In the first place 
no one wanted to get up. Even 
Cherry forgot about wet sponges. She 
thought only of bed clothes. In fact, the 
whole family thought of blankets. There 
couldn’t be a worse thought early in the 
morning. Of course, it is a beautiful one at 
night. 

If all the children in the world w6uld only begin to think about blankets 
at six o’clock every night, think what a glorious thought that would be for 
mothers and nurses! No more crossness about going to bed. Every one 
talking about blankets ! Every one in fact perfectly wrapped up in the idea 
of blankets. 

But all the Chucks went on thinking about them in the morning, and 
the morning never stopped but went on and on. After a while, Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr., gave a very large yawn. Then he opened one eye and looked 
at the Wild Thyme. Wild Thyme is a plant, but it is the only clock the 
Chucks have. It is very hard on Chuck children, having to learn to tell 
the time. It is so much harder to learn by Wild Thyme than by tame 
time, for you are apt to get wild trying. 

“Dear me,” said Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., “it is the next morning.” No 
one seemed to care if it was. There was no sound but soft burrowings into 
blankets. 

“Is it the next morning, or the morning after?” said Mr. W. Chuck, 
Jr. No one had anything to say about that, either. 




fflff 


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“Is it the next morning, or the morning after?” This time Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr.’s, voice was a little cross. 

By this time, Grandpapa Chuck had begun to know there was a noise. 
He was not a little cross, but very cross. His head ached, his best hat had 
been too tight. He looked out over the top of his blankets. 

“Son Wood,” said he, “what do you care what morning it is? It might 
be six mornings after the morning after for all of me,” said Grandpapa 
Chuck. “I am asleep,” and sure enough he was. 

There wasn’t the least sound for a long time, then Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., 
looked out at the Wild Thyme again. It was quite dark. Of course, 
you remember, no windows. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., gave a Fire-fly a poke, by which to see the Wild 
Thyme. The Fire-fly may have been thinking of blankets, too, for he 
gave a very poor light. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., did hate to get up. Being a father is dull work. You 
can’t say, “Get up, children,” and then burrow in the blankets yourself. 
Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., thought of wet sponges and cold floors and all sorts of 
sad things. He almost cried. If it had been a nice thing for a father to do 
he would have. 

After he was almost frozen with sticking his head out of the blankets, 
he gave a bounce. He stopped thinking of blankets. He began thinking 
of floors. The floor was very cold, it felt like an iceberg. He hurried 




into his fur boots. He hurried into his fur coat. He even hurried into his 
fur hat. It was quite dark dressing by one Fire-fly and that a poor one. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., made up his mind that Woodie must get better 
Fire-flies. In the meantime, he made all the noise he could. He felt 
like having the family wake up. He hated being alone in — almost — the 
dark. He pinched the Fire-fly. It was a dull one, and very light-headed, 
otherwise not light at all. 

In walking around, he ran into the lunch basket. He could smell stale 
sandwiches. Then he stepped on Sarah Mud-Turtle. She had fallen 
out of her dress and was colder than the floor. She hated being stepped 
on. She spoke of it, by biting him. By that time Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., was 
angry. He threw Sarah somewhere. The somewhere was on Grandpapa’s 
head. 

Grandpapa Chuck waked up with loud noises. That waked up all 
the children. Cherry made up her mind something had happened. Wood 
3d thought so, too. Chestnut hunted under his pillow for his rubber mit- 
tens. If there was going to be trouble, he had better have them on. 

Every one was awake. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., was glad, he meant they 
should be. Every one was cross. He knew they would be. Worse than 
all, every one was hungry. 

By this time they were all out of bed. There seemed to be a great 
many fur boots and fur hats on the floor. It was hard to see them, for the 

one Fire-fly grew dimmer 
and dimmer. Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr., spoke quite 
firmly to Wood 3d about 
Fire-flies. 

Peachy was hunting 
everywhere for Sarah 
Mud-Turtle, who had 
gone quietly to sleep 




Sarah. You see, Sarah herself had already been sitting on his head. 

Chestnut was so hungry his voice grew woolier than ever. It sounded 
like the inside of a great many muffs. He kept saying, over and over, 
“potato, tomato, potato, tomato.” 

Of course, the first part of the words got lost, so he went on mumbling, 
“Toe, toe, toe,” until Cherry went and got a bandage for his foot. 

Everybody grew much hungrier. Everybody grew a great deal crosser. 
The Fire-fly grew dimmer every minute — and there wasn’t a thing in the 
house to eat. 




M R. W. CHUCK, JR., had made 
up his mind. Something must 
^be done. He never had liked 
going out for his breakfast; the morn- 
ing after the picnic settled that. He 
couldn’t and he wouldn’t. He liked 
having food near at hand. While get- 
ting a bite of breakfast on a day when 
he was nervous and upset, he hated be- 
ing chased by Mr. B. Wow Dog. 

Neither did he like having Farmer 
Cross-Patch glare over a wall, while he was rooting around for his dinner. 
He used to be very fond of radishes — a nice breakfast dish. But Farmer 
Cross-Patch had a bad habit of planting them in a small kitchen-garden near 
his house. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., had decided that radishes were too exciting 
a vegetable for him to eat. Running away from Mr. B. Wow Dog before 
breakfast was not good for one. So he took to squashes which grew down by 
the orchard, well away from everybody. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., thought a 
great deal about food. With four growing Chuck children, he had to. 

Grandpa didn’t like going to market before breakfast either. He said 
the squash patch was too far for an old Chuck. 

“If we could get an ice-box, Wood,” said Grandpapa, “we could keep 
a few pickled beets on hand.” 

“You know very well no one likes pickled beets but you,” said Mr. W. 








Chuck, Jr., snappily. “Peachy hates them, and, as for Sarah Mud-Turtle, 
she won’t touch them. You can’t starve the child’s doll.” 

Grandpapa Chuck stopped thinking about the ice-box. He knew there 
wasn’t any way to get ice. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., had forgotten to say anything 
about that. Grandpapa had thought the pickled beets would keep any way, 
and ice-box has a nice sound on a warm day. 

For two or three days Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., thought and thought. He sat 
on top of the house with his back to the chimney until his fur coat was singed. 
He walked in the lilac wood until he was tired. He wore a path through the 
forest of syringa bushes. The children were wakened at night by his shout- 
ing, “radishes” in his sleep. He ate hardly anything. Once in a while 
Cherry would get him to take a lettuce leaf. But that is not much food for a 
well grown Chuck gentleman. 

Wood, 3rd, said he would go out early and get all the breakfasts. Cherry 
promised to cook them. Chestnut said he would make rubber mitten marks 
all the way to the potatoes to keep from getting lost. There didn’t seem to 
be anything Peachy could do. She sat very still and hugged Sarah Mud- 
Turtle. Sarah was suffering from pains. They were caused by Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr’s, stepping on her. Grandpapa Chuck said he could live on 
pickled beets for the rest of his days. But nothing seemed to make Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr., any happier. The whole world looked like Mr. B. Wow Dog to 

him. 

At last, one day, he had a thought. 
Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., would never have 
had the thought if he hadn’t torn his 
fur coat. But he had torn an enormous 
hole. A bramble in the front yard had 
caught him in its scratchy arms. It 
scratched his crossness as well as his 
back. 

The front yard was always kept 
brambly. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., never 
had liked it. He was a tidy animal, 
and it looked mussy to him. Besides 
that, it tore the children’s fur suits. 
It kept them always going to the tailor’s. 



But Grandpapa Chuck liked it brambly. He hated having it cleared 
up. Mowing it would hurt his paws. For years he had had a landscape 
gardener named Chip Munk. Chip Munk laid it out in a neat way for the 
burying of nuts by Squirrels. He lived in a wall not far away, so it was no 
trouble to get him to come. The trouble was he came too often. Chip 
Munk was fond of nuts. 

Grandpapa Chuck was fond of nuts, too. He found this a very easy way 
to get them. He had always wished Squirrels would hide raisins, too. At 
the time the brambles tore the hole in his fur coat, Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., was in a 
very hungry state. As hungry as a Chuck could be. His mind was tired 
from thinking.. His legs were tired from walking. His back was very tired 
from being scratched. Something had to be done, and he was going to do 
it. 

Wood, 3rd, saw what had happened. He thought he would go to hunt 
fireflies. It seemed a good time for that. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., looked at his fur coat. Then Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., 
looked at Grandpapa Chuck. He was nicely asleep near the chimney on 
the top of the house. It was a good thing for Grandpapa that he was an 
old Chuck. If he had been a child Chuck, there would have been spankings. 
There were spankings in Mr. W. Chuck, Jr.’s, eye. 

Peachy took Sarah Mud-Turtle in her paw. She went quite hurriedly 
over to play in Chip Munk’s wall. The smaller you are, the more spank- 
ings. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., walked into the house. He took out his card-case, 
and his best cane, and his Sunday-go-to-meeting fur gloves. Then he 
marched out of the house again. He never saw Sarah and Peachy peeping 
out of the wall. He never saw Wood, 3rd, who was running around playing 
at getting fireflies. They really had to be caught in the dark. He never 
even looked at the forest of syringa bushes. 

But everybody could see that he was going somewhere. The children 
guessed and guessed, but they couldn’t guess where. 



C&njyou Suess 



TJEl ey 
wondered 
and 

wondered, 


T HE Chuck children kept wondering 
where their father had gone. Chest- 
nut said, if they were not going to do 
anything else, he thought it would be fun to sit 
in a row and wonder. Cherry said she couldn’t 
for she had to make turnip turnovers for tea. 
Woodie, 3rd, said he would love to, but he was 
short of fireflies. Peachy seemed to think 
she would like it. So Peachy, and Chestnut, 
and Sarah Mud-Turtle sat on the top of 
the house in a row. They wondered and 
wondered where Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., had gone. They might have wondered 
all the rest of their lives and they never could have guessed. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., had gone to call on the Brown tail family. 

The Chucks had never known the Browntails very well. Not at all 
well enough for Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., to go calling on them with a hole in his 
coat. 

But Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., didn’t care. He had been scratched. He was 
hungry. He had a plan. 

Mr. Browntail was at home and very glad to see Mr. Chuck; All 
the family crawled in to see him. They would have loved to crawl up his 
back to feel his fur coat. 

^ Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., didii’t waste any time for he was a very busy animal. 
He told the Browntails he knew they were fond of moving, and that he 
and Grandpapa Chuck would like to have them for neighbors. Grandpapa 
Chuck, himself, would have come to say so if his best hat had not needed 
a new ribbon. 


TLe 

Brcwntail 



Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. said the Chuck children were good little animals. 
He was sure the Browntails would like them. Cherry was a good sweeper. 
She would be glad to come over anytime and sweep out their houses with her 
tail. They could have a crawl on Chestnut’s rubber mittens. As for 
Peachy, he knew none of the Browntail children had dolls like hers. They 
could all have a look at Sarah Mud-Turtle. He offered to give the Brown- 
tails all the leaves on the brambles. He begged them to build their houses 
over in his bushes. 

Mr. Browntail was very sorry for Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. He didn’t know 
he was hungry, but he knew he looked sad. He saw his fur coat was torn. 
He wanted to ask if Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., had happened to see Mr. B. Wow 
Dog. 


He crawled nearer and looked at him very hard. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr’s., 
eyes still looked like spankings. Mr. Browntail gave up speaking of Mr. 
Dog. He said he would ask Mrs. Browntail’s advice. Mrs Browntail said, 
for her part, she loved to move. The trouble was that the Browntail chil- 
dren had just started singing lessons. Mr. Mosquito was giving them the 
lessons. She didn’t know whether he would 
want to fly so far. 

“Flying is quite different from crawling, / « 

my dear Mrs. Browntail/’ said Mr. W. Chuck, 

Jr. “For that matter, Wood, 3rd, my oldest 
son, could bring Mr. Mosquito over on his ear. 

It would be a comfortable seat for Mr. Mos- 
quito, and Wood, 3rd, would love hearing him 
sing.” 

Of course, after that, the Brown-Tails 
said, “Yes.” 



Crawl oa, Browntails . Crawl on ! ! '. f 



\u V 


That afternoon they moved. The moving was a great sight. The 
grass was full of the Browntail family, crawling to their new home. Mr. 
Mosquito sang them a good-by before they started. The Browntails moved 
in very quietly, but very busily. By night, you could see a little white house 
on every bramble. They looked very pretty, in among the green. 

Chip Munk, when he went over later to borrow some nuts, was surprised 
to see all the Browntail family. They were all singing, 

“ Crawl on, Browntails, Crawl on.” 

The Chuck children wanted to know why they had come. For a num- 
ber of days, they did hardly anything but wonder why. Some one was al- 
ways on the top of the house wondering. They lived in the dark most of the 
time, for Wood, 3rd, forgot the fireflies. No one could see the Wild Thyme, 
so nobody knew how long they spent wondering. 

The Browntails were great eaters. They had five meals every day. Leaf 
porridge for breakfast. Leaf soup for luncheon. Leaf muffins for tea. Leaf 
pie for dinner, and a few leaves, for a change, before going to bed. The 
brambles looked as if they had lost their dresses. Almost all the leaves were 
gone. The little white houses showed whiter than ever. 

All of a sudden, one day, they saw Grandpapa coming on the run. They 
never waited to wonder why he was running. They just ran, too. In at the 
front door they went, Cherry and Wood, 3rd, pulling poor Peachy along be- 
tween them. 

When they were safe in the front hall, they turned to see Grandpapa 
tumble in breathless. 

“Get him a radish,” shrieked Cherry. 

“An onion is better, he’s faint,” said Wood, 3rd. 

“N’onion, n’onion, n’onion,” woolenly said Chestnut. 

Grandpapa felt better when he had sniffed at a fat Bermuda. He 
gasped out, “Farmer Cross-Patch with a knife and fire in his paw — I mean 
hand,” said Grandpapa. 

“Great Squashes,” exclaimed Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., who at that moment 
came in, wheezing and puffing from his haste. “He’s come to kill Mr. 
Browntail and all his family. Great Squashes, I meant to have them move 
out before he came. What are we going to do ? ” 


1 



3 " ■ " " ■ » - ' O 

'Three worms and three worms’,’ counted Robin, 


J 



said he. “They are all moving out, with their hat boxes under their arms.” 
Then he took another look. “Mr. Browntail just came back for his um- 
brella,” said he. “It does look as if it might rain.” 

By this time Grandpapa had his head out of the front door. 4 ‘The 
brambles are gone,” he cried. “So is Farmer Cross-Patch,” he added, 
coming back presently, from another look around. 

Then out of the house went Cherry, and Wood 3rd, and Grandpapa, 
and Peachy, and Chestnut, who was still mumbling “n’onion, n’onion, 
n’onion,” though Grandpapa was quite well again and had even put the 
onion on to boil for supper. 

Sure enough, the place was as bare as bare could be. Only the lilac 
grove and the forest of syringa bushes were left, clapping their soft green 
leaves to show how glad they were the brambles were gone. 


The whole Chuck family be- 
gan talking at once. Grand- 
papa said he was sorry about 



^ N WKy not 

( j ch.ec5e? 

'—V 


the nuts. He liked a nut now ^ j ' 


and then. Cherry said she felt 
sorry for the Browntail family, 
moving out so suddenly. Wood 
3rd felt sure he had seen Mrs. 


Browntail crying. Chestnut 
didn’t speak. He couldn’t say 


“brambles,” and nuts got in his 
teeth. 


As for Peachy, she didn’t | 
care about brambles or Brown- 


tails either. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. kept trying to speak. Every time he 
began, the family talked faster than ever. Afte^ awhile Chip Munk came 
over. He chattered faster than the Chuck children. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., wished he had left the brambles. He wished he 
had starved. He would even have eaten a nut, though he never did like 
nuts. At last, Grandpapa Chuck began to grow tired of talking. So did 
all the children. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., hurried to speak. 

“Children,” said he in a very father-y tone. The Chuck children 
all began to listen. 

“Children,” said Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., “the brambles are gone.” All 
the children began to talk. 

“No animal but myself is to talk,” said Papa W. Chuck, Jr. Wood 
3rd, and Chestnut, and Cherry, and Peachy all shut their mouths very 
tight. Sarah Mud-Turtle drew in her head and all her arms and legs as 
well. Of course, her dress fell off. Peachy didn’t dare to put it on. There 
was a something about Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., which made Peachy feel that 
even a cold for Sarah was better than moving just then. There was a mouse 
quietness without Mr. Mouse being anywhere around. 

“In short,” said Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., “we are going to have a garden in 
the front yard. No more hunting for food. < No more brambles. No 
more nuts. No more Squirrels.” Here, he gave a glance at Chip Munk. 
“I have a great mind to plant the whole place to radishes. A cool, crisp 


Hf jWjfJ’ TKer swept 


cuid sweph f 



their tails. 


vegetable, which doesn’t hurt 
your paws to dig. Whatever 
we plant,” said he, beginning 
to walk around, “we must house- 
clean the front yard.” 

Sarah Mud-Turtle was al- 
ready out of hearing. When 
Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., began to 
walk around, she began to walk 
away. She meant to be a good 
doll, but no doll wants to risk 
being stepped on. 

So the whole family set to 
work on the front yard with 
There never was such a sweeping. 


They swept and they swept. 

Even Grandpapa Chuck swept as hard as he could. 

A good many animals came by while they were sweeping. They all 
stopped to ask questions. What were they doing? Why were they doing 
it? Who didn’t like nuts? When would it be done? 

Grandpapa, being a very polite Chuck and also not liking to sweep, 
was forever stopping to answer. 

Mr. Mouse squeaked at him for a long time. He thought it would 
be nice to plant cheese in the garden. Grandpapa called Mr. W. Chuck, 
Jr., away from his sweeping to hear about it. But Mr. Mouse didn’t know 
how well cheese grew. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., said to himself that Mr. Mouse would always be 
around, borrowing cheese. He had just gotten rid of Chip Munk’s borrow- 
ing nuts. He made up his mind not to plant cheese. 

Then, Robin Red-Breast came for a minute. He looked worried and said 
he couldn’t stay. He had been out on a worming trip, and, ever since, he had 
been working on his cash account. He laid the worms out on a big rock. 

“Three worms and three worms make seven worms,” counted Robin. 

“Six,” corrected Grandpapa. 

“No,” said Robin, “three worms and three worms.” Then he looked 
quickly and saw that one was a n’ awful lively worm and his tail waggled 
and made the seventh. 


Chip Munk thought the sweeping was great fun. He thought he 
would have a little garden over by his wall. His tail made the nicest little 
dust-brush you ever saw. 

Wood 3rd and Cherry worked very hard. Cherry rather liked sweep- 
ing. Wood 3rd thought it would be grand to have food near at hand. He 
was always being sent somewhere for fresh vegetables. Chestnut wasn’t a 
very good sweeper. He was always putting on or taking off his rubber 
mittens. It upset his sweeping. Half the time his tail was brushing the 
air, not the dirt. It was a fine sight to see the whole Chuck family at 
work. Farmer Cross-Patch would have enjoyed seeing them all together, 
just once. 

Mr. Browntail came to call, after awhile. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., stopped 
to ask him if it had rained while he was moving. 

“I saw you come backfor your umbrella,” said Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. Mr. 
Browntail thought Mr. Chuck was a very polite animal. He thanked him 
for asking. 

Mr. Browntail said he and his family were glad to get away before 
Farmer Cross-Patch came. He said they felt like moving again about that 
time. He asked Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., why he didn’t plant bushes in his 
garden. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., said to himself, “for the Browntails to borrow 
the leaves, I suppose.” 

The children thought the sweeping was great fun at first, then their 
paws began to be sore, and Chestnut cut one of his on a rock. Every- 
body stopped to take care of Chestnut. Sarah Mud-Turtle came back 
and put on her dress. She knew no one had time to take care of a cut 
Chuck and a sick Mud-Turtle at the same time. 

After awhile, Grandpapa said if the children would go and sit in a row 
and wonder what would happen next, he thought it would be a good plan. 
So the children pad, padded off all by themselves. They fell asleep on top 
of their own little hill. Peachy got too near the chimney and came near 
being cooked. Presently, Grandpapa Chuck and Papa W. Chuck, Jr., 
' came over and went to sleep too. All that could be heard was soft Chuck 
sleeping noises and the sound of Chip Munk’s tail as he swept away at his 
garden. 


























I 



, • 


> 
































iJU£om& t/ve fyx?u>niailksO 
'mooed; sorvto ouj* JhcdietS' 










3 V 



Wty the Birds didht have 

Worm -Pie. 



HILE the Chucks slept, the lilacs 
kept on clapping, clapping softly. 
Before long some birds, who were 
out getting dinner for their children, stopped to see what had happened. 

“Looks very neat,” twittered Sparrow. 

“Very,” sang Mr. Blue-Jay. 

“But bare, needs a leetle something on it, I think,” croaked Mr, Crow. 

“Come on, let’s help, they’re so tired,” sang nice motherly Mrs. Robin. 

All the birds stopped to look at the Chucks. They did look tired. 
Chestnut and Cherry were asleep, holding each other’s paws. Grandpapa 
had Peachy cuddled in his arms. Sarah Mud-Turtle was lying close to 
Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. She smiled in her sleep as she dreamed of living in 
the lunch basket. Wood 3rd lay flat on his back, with his feet up. No 
Chuck ever looked more uncomfortable. 

“I don’t see how we can help,” sang one of Mrs. Robin’s sisters. 

“No,” croaked Mr. Crow, “I can’t plant corn, though I am very good 
at picking it.” Every one looked sorry. They had heard that Mr. Crow 
sometimes took corn without 
asking leave. 

“But how can we help, Mrs. 

Robin?” sang Mr. Blue-Jay. 

He was always trying to find 
out why, and when, and how. 

“Instead of giving the children 
worm-pie for dinner,” sang Mrs. 

Robin, “we’ll have seed-cakes. 

You know how many seeds we 
always drop as we are flying 
home. So we will all fly over 
the Chucks’ front yard, and soon 
it will be green and lovely.” 



“It’s a fine plan!” sang all the birds at once. 

Chip Munk, who ha/d been listening to what they sang, begged them 
to fly over his garden too The Sparrows thought one garden was enough 
to do in a day. But Chip Munk begged very hard, and Mrs. Robin thought 
they might try. The Sparrows were sorry they had been so horrid. They 
took back their no when they saw Chip Munk crying into a new cobweb 
handkerchief he had just picked off the grass. To comfort him, Mrs. Robin 
pecked his furry cheek softly with her bill. The Sparrows even offered to 
help him weed the garden after it was planted. They really are a nice 
bird family, but they twitter so much they forget what they are singing 
about. 

Everybody was ready to help except Mr. Crow. He was too busy. 
But he always was a queer bird, so nobody worried about him. Then 
they all flew off. Each bird promised to get a different kind of seed. 

The Chucks slept on and on. Sarah Mud -Turtle still smiled in her 
sleep. Wood 3rd’s feet poked uncomfortably into the air. By and by, 
the birds came flying back. They flew quite slowly over the Chucks’ 
front yard and dropped a great many seeds. 

The Robin babies had rolled wheat for dinner. The Jays had oat- 
meal. The Sparrows ate corn fritters and had pains, fritters being much 
too rich for such small bird babies. All the Chicadees had mustard with- 
out any ham, so it burnt their tongues like everything. The little 

yellowbirds were furious be- 
cause they had barley-water, 
when the mustard would have 
matched their coats so beau- 
tifully. A great many seeds 
were spilled on the front yard. 

The Chucks heard the birds 
singing, but they didn’t wake 
up to listen. The birds were 
always singing about something. 
Once in a while Cherry used to go 
to a bird concert. She rather 
liked to hear them sing. Grand- 
papa Chuck didn’t care for music 



and neither did Sarah Mud-Turtle. This time the Chucks let the birds 
sing on. They didn’t care what happened, so long as they could sleep. 

Toward night it began to rain, and Grandpapa Chuck and Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr., just rolled the children into the house without waking them. 
They never had any supper. Grandpapa even forgot his onion which had 
burned up, leaving a fearful smell. 

The whole Chuck family, to tell the truth, was quite worn out. 
Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., who stuck his head out every morning, never woke 
them up at all for three days. The fourth day he stuck his head, way out, 
having seen, by a streak of sunlight on the front door, that it must have 
cleared off. 

As his head came up above ground, he gave a shout. All the family 
woke up at once. They had slept about enough. Peachy forgot her 
manners and got in front of Grandpapa. Chestnut took off his rubber 
mittens so he could run faster. Cherry carried Sarah Mud-Turtle, who 
never could run at all. They all tumbled out of the house at once. 

What a wonderful front yard they saw ! The soft warm rain had come 
to help the birds help Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. There, all around them where 
the brambles used to be, was a lovely green, covering the ground. Little 
sprouts of barley, and corn, and mustard, and wheat, all growing together. 

The lilacs were bowing and waving their leaves, Chip Munk was waving 
his cobweb handkerchief, too. The birds were singing as hard as they could 
and the Chucks were having the best party they had ever had in all their 
Chuck lives. 




^ a MOD-TORH-t 

Parb^r. * 



aid 60 . 
Ike Biiuk s 
usually done. 

$ 


ARAH MUD-TURTLE was 
very ill. 

Her nose was hot, and so 
was the tip of her tail. Of course, 
if both ends were hot, the middle 
must have been. 

Cherry tried to take her tempera- 
ture, but Sarah wouldn’t open her 
mouth properly. So, Cherry took 
Peachy’s temperature, which was the 
next thing to it, though Peachy 
wasn’t even warm. 

Peachy did all the things usually done for a sick doll. Such as putting 
to bed, wrapping up throat, and flannel nightie. Sarah got out of bed quite 
quickly, for Sarah. She drew in her throat, while Peachy was wrapping it 
up. As for her arms, they went in before the flannel nightie had even started 
to be put on. It is difficult to know what to do for a doll without arms, legs, 
or head. In fact Sarah took in her tail, so you couldn’t tell anything by that. 

There she was, in the middle of the floor, just a lump of back. What 
could they do? Peachy and Cherry were all alone. Grandpapa Chuck and 
Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. had gone off for an all day’s marketing. Wood 3rd and 
Chestnut were down at the Browntails’ making a little call. They would 
probably stay for luncheon. The Browntails were living in an apple 
orchard now. Of course they would stay for lunch. 




In the meantime, there lay Sarah, or rather Sarah’s back. Cherry would 
have put ice on her head, since Sarah had a fever, but she hadn’t any ice. 
For that matter, Sarah had no head. Then, of course, there were hot cloths. 
But, there was the same trouble. No head on Sarah and no hot cloths. 

Peachy thought of the doctor, which was a pretty good thought for such 
a small Chuck. But what kind of doctor for a sick Mud-Turtle? You could- 
n’t have Chuck doctor. What would he know about Mud-Turtles? He 
knew only about Chucks. He would probably say “give her a pickled 
beet.” Now, everybody knows that is no food for a Turtle. Anyway, 
Sarah hated pickled beets. The Chuck doctor would not do. 

Then, too, who would get the doctor? Peachy was too small to be left 
alone with Sarah. She was too small to go for the doctor all by herself. 
Sarah was too ill to be carried to the doctor. Beside that, how could two 
Chucks, girl Chucks at that, carry a sick doll without arms or legs? How 
could they take hold of her? There was nothing to hold on to. 

In the meantime there lay Sarah. Peachy got a pillow for the place 
where Sarah’s head ought to be. It made Peachy feel better, but it didn’t 
do Sarah much good. Cherry got her a glass with a spoon on top for her 
medicine. That was a comfort to Cherry, but.there being no medicine, Sarah 
felt about the same. 

Then Cherry began talking to Sarah. She said, “ Sarah Mud-Turtle, do 
you hear?” Sarah’s back never even moved. “Sarah,” she said, “waggle 
your tail, if you hear.” Not even a 
waggle. 

“Sarah, dear, if you’ll only get well, 
you can make your home in the lunch 
basket. I’ll furnish it for you myself. 

You can have a cunning little bed with 
blankets, Sarah. I’ll make you a Christ- 
mas tree out of a pine cone, Sarah. 

We’ll never use the lunch basket for our 
lunch again, Sarah. I know Grand- 
papa won’t mind using a paper box.” 

By this time Peachy was crying as 
hard as any Chuck child ever cried. 

Cherry had to stop talking to Sarah and 



Scirckb. fell: 
fke same. 



pat Peachy. But Peachy cried on and on. Between Sarah and Peachy, 
Cherry wished she had gone with Woodie and Chestnut. Anything would 
be better than this, even the Browntails. 


Tears fell all over Sarah. Cherry was afraid she would drown. She 
went and got the lunch basket. She set it down near Sarah, but Sarah never 
even saw it. She got Peachy a whole pawful of beets. Anything was better 
than this crying. Peachy stopped only long enough to eat the beets. She 
grew wetter and wetter. Her fur coat was soaked. Her fur boots grew wet. 
As for her fur gloves, they dripped with water. 

Cherry put her feet up in a chair. Then she took them down again and 
tried to move Sarah. She was still afraid she would drown. It is one thing 
to move a Mud-Turtle with handles made of arms and legs. But it is quite 
another thing to move nothing but a back. Cherry couldn’t move her an 
inch. Peachy stopped crying a minute and helped, but still Sarah didn’t 
move. 

They pulled and they poked. They whispered, “Dear Sarah Mud-Turtle, 
please move.” They shouted, “Sarah Mud-Turtle , get up .” 

Peachy’s tears made Sarah more slippery every minute. Every minute 
Cherry grew more worried about Sarah — and still there lay an armless, head- 
less, tailless — Sarah Mud-Turtle. 



( toUJL 
a mA^id4^jfo<>A- aSaul 'dor 





''we xmxnsA aw&y* 


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W HAT’S that,” said Cherry suddenly. Peachy and Cherry both 
stopped poking Sarah Mud-Turtle. Peachy also stopped crying. 
They both listened. Yes, some one was knocking. 

It didn’t sound a bit like a paw knock. Who could it be? Cherry wiped 
off Peachy’s tears. The knocking went on. ] It was not a paw knock. Every 
little while there were queer squawking sounds. 

Cherry kept wondering who could be there? She ran up the front hall, 
Peachy close behind. “It isn’t a paw knock, it’s a bill knock,” she cried. 
The bill knock was almost drowned in squawkings. 

Cherry threw open the door and there, all by themselves, no Mr. or Mrs. 
Goose in sight, stood Squawk and Squawkanna. 

“How-de-do, Cherry,” said Squawk. 

“How-de-do, Peachy,” said Squawkanna. 

“We runned away,” they both squawked together?' 

“Goodness,” said Cherry to herself. “Two more children and Geese 
children, too, for me to take care of.” 

However, she said, “How-de-do, Squawk, how-de-do, Squawkanna,” 
very politely. 

“Why did you runned away?” said Peachy. 

“ Sh, — sh,” they hissed. Then they came up quite close to the two Chucks. 
“Father Goose said Squawk’s neck must grow longer so he can wear 
father Goose’s old collars,” squawked Squawkanna. 

“ Won’t,” squawked Squawk. “Tired of growing, hate collars, anyway. 
Wish’t I wasn’t a Goose.” 

“It is too bad,” said Cherry civilly, “but you are.” Squawk looked at 
her. He was rather a dull Goose, but he felt as if Cherry meant something he 
didn’t know about. Still, Cherry looked very polite. 


Inside, she was thinking. “ Goose — he is the goosiest Goose I ever knew. 
What shall I do? Sarah on the floor and we can’t move her. Squawk and 
Squawkanna outside. They mustn’t go until Mr. and Mrs. Goose come for 
them.” 

She knew Squawk and Squawkanna couldn’t come inside. They were 
the wrong shape for the Chuck’s front hall. 

“I must go back to Sarah,” thought Cherry. Then she said, “Why 
don’t you and the Geese children play squat tag, Peachy?” 

Squawk and Squawkanna loved squat tag. They left out the running 
and just played the squatting part. Cherry knew they couldn’t get far away 
playing that. 

“All right,” said Peachy cheerfully. The Geese children had put Sarah 
Mud-Turtle quite out of her head. 

Cherry hurried back to Sarah. There she lay. Nothing had happened. 
Still headless and tailless lay Sarah. 

Cherry could hear the faint squawking of Squawk and Squawkanna 
coming down the front hall. She wept a little weep. It was dull work being a 
big sister, sometimes. She wished Grandpapa Chuck would come home. He 
was a kind animal, perhaps he could think of something to do. It was dark 
and lonely. Woodie certainly found very small Fireflies lately. Even the 
Wild Thyme was faded. No knowing how long Sarah had been ill. 

Suddenly, she heard other sounds coming down the front hall beside 
squawkings. Then, a little voice squeaked, “May I come down, Cherry?” 



“It’s Mr. Mouse,” cried Cherry. “Do come down, please, Mr. Mouse.” 

In a minute, in came Mr. Mouse. He was looking very well in a new 
mouse-colored suit, mouse-colored hat, and mouse-colored gloves. 

“What’s the matter with Sarah?” squeaked he, running up her back. 

“She is very ill,” said Cherry. 

“Seems to have lost her head,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. 

“Yes,” sobbed Cherry, “everything but her back.” 

“Poor dolly,” squeaked Mr. Mouse, “poor, poor dolly. She’d be better 
in the air, wouldn’t she?” 

“We can’t move her,” said Cherry. “She’s lost all her handles.” 

“Sure enough,” squeaked Mr. Mouse, running up her back again. 
Sarah hated having any one touch her back, but she never moved. 

Cheerful sounds of squat tag came down the hall. Mr. Mouse sat down. 
Cherry sat down too. There seemed to be nothing to say. So nobody said 
anything. Mr. Mouse was thinking hard. His little mouse-colored face was 
all screwed up. 

Presently Woodie padded in, his mouth full of apple. He was still busy 
with the Brown-Tails’ lunch. 

Cherry could hear Chestnut outside mumbling, “apple, apple, apple.” 
She knew he was telling the Geese children and Peachy about the luncheon. 
Probably he would stay and play squat tag. He loved to play it Squawk and 
Squawkanna’s waj^. It was so peaceful. 

Mr. Mouse had folded his mouse-colored paws. He w r as still thinking. 
After a long time Cherry heard heavy paddings of Chuck feet. In came 
Grandpapa Chuck and Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. Cherry pointed first to Sarah, 
then to Mr. Mouse. Grandpapa Chuck and Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., sat down on 
the sofa together. Grandpapa made scuttling noises, because he would 
change his boots. Cherry was afraid he w r ould, trouble Mr. Mouse, but Mr. 
Mouse never stirred. 

The Wild Thyme went on slowly, being faded. The Mouse quietness 
went on quietly. Cherry thought it would never end. 

Then, all of a sudden, Mr. Mouse began to squeak. 

“When I am ill, I want the thing I like best in all the world.” 

“Yes,” said Cherry. 

“ What is that? ” said Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., rather crossly. He was tired of 
the Mouse quietness. He wanted to put away his marketing. He found it 
dull looking at Sarah’s back. “What’s that, what do you like best?” 





“Cheese,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “Snappy cheese, if possible, but 
cheese, anyway.” 

Cherry’s heart sank. She knew Sarah Mud-Turtle would never eat 
cheese. After all this time too, nothing done. 

But, Mr. Mouse was still squeaking. “If a Mouse likes cheese better 
than anything else in the world, what would a Chuck like best?” 

“Pickled beets,” shouted Grandpapa. 

“Doesn’t, either,” shrieked Woodie. 

The Chucks were all starting to talk at once, when Mr. Mouse raised his 

paw. 

“If a mouse likes cheese better than anything else, what” — Mr. Mouse 
stopped a moment — “what would a Mud-Turtle like?” 

“Mud,” said Grandpapa quickly. 

Sarah was suffering from no mud ! 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., forgot his marketing. He grabbed one side of Sarah. 
Grandpapa took the other. Woodie poked her from behind. Chestnut 
mumbled, “mud, mud, mud,” in his wooliest way. 

Up the front hall they all went, Cherry following with the lunch basket, 
Mr. Mouse riding inside. 

Mr. and Mrs. Goose were just coming for Squawk and Squawkanna, so 
all the Goose family came along, too. Peachy with them. 

They carried Sarah to a beautiful marshy bog. They dumped her in. 
They held their breath to see what happened. Out came Sarah’s arms, out 
came Sarah’s legs, out came Sarah’s head. 

Sarah was a Mud-Turtle again. 



CHUCK PHILOSOPHY; 


B ETTER is a Brown tail on a bush, 
than two in the hand. 

It’s poor digging that gives no 
Chuck a pickled beet. 

A song from Mr. Mosquito gives him 
food for thought. 


Gather Fire-Flies while it is still light. 










©> V V & 


It was dijjicult to. beat ijour 
own coat on ijour own back. 







dusting Ms own co 5.1. 


HE CHUCKS must be having a 
real spring house-cleaning,” said 
Chip Munk as he strolled by one 
morning. Sure enough, the whole top of 
the little hill in which the Chucks lived 
was covered with house cleanings. 

The Fire-fly lamps were flying around. 
Woodie was trying to keep them quiet. “They give such a poor light 
when they play hide-and-go-seek all day,” said Grandpapa. “I do wish we 
could get some quieter lamps.” 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., was beating things. He carried a long stick about 
with him. He beat everything that came in his way. He almost beat 
Chestnut, but Chestnut made very fast paw marks away from him. So 
Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., gave up beating Chestnut and began on his own fur coat 
instead. Chip Munk laughed a chattery laugh when he saw Mr. Chuck 
beating his own coat. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., was beating quite hard. He 
didn’t seem to be having much fun. Once in a while he would give a hop, 
that was when he beat himself too hard. It was difficult to beat his own 
fur coat on his own back. 

It really did hurt. He got very much twisted up trying to do his back. 

“Having a good time, Chuck?” said Chip Munk. Mr. Chuck looked 
around. Chip Munk stopped strolling and did a little running. 

“He seems too busy to talk,” said Chip Munk, when he had skipped 
through two or three stone walls. He climbed up on the top of the last one 
and looked back. 

“I’ll go for quite a long walk,” said Chip Munk. Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., had 
stopped beating and was looking for some one. 

“Think I won’t come back ’till toward night,” said Chip Munk, making 
a flying leap and hitting the next wall. 


Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., went on beating. After all, if he had to beat the 
old coat sometime, it might as well be now. No use getting hot chasing 
Chip Munk. Horrid little animal. Was he having a good time? He was 
not. He hated house-cleaning, anyway. Everything stirred up. All his 
best things gone. The turnip he had buried in the corner of the hall. Every 
Chuck child would get a bite. That lovely old carrot, all nice and wizzled. 
He could see it in the scrap heap. He had thought of making himself a 
new cap out of a bit of fur Mrs. Pussy Cat had left on the fence. That, too, 
he should never see again. 

His manly Chuck heart was very sad, but he beat on. It was quite 
hot. He put up a large umbrella. It was hard work to beat and hold the 
umbrella at the same time. Why not just hold the umbrella? After all 
it would never do for him to be sun struck. What would become of the 
children? He ought to take care of himself. He stopped beating and went 
on holding the umbrella. This was really rather pleasant work. 

He began thinking about umbrellas. Sun umbrellas, rain umbrellas, 
umbrella trees. Silk umbrellas, cotton umbrellas, wool umbrellas. Red 
umbrellas, blue umbrellas, green umbrellas. 

Really, house-cleaning was rather nice. He looked around for a seat. 

He could think quite as well sitting. 

Then Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., looked 
around the hill. He picked up a fur 
ball near by and put it in his pocket. 
That was Peachy. 

Before long Chestnut and Woodie 
came crawling along, paw in paw. 
They came quite crookedly, because 
of feet mixings. Walking with four 
feet, instead of two feet, is mixing. 
They were soon fur balls, too, one on 
each of Mr. W. Chuck, Jr’s., feet. The 
Fire-flies put out their lamps and fell 
asleep. So warm and cosy, thought 
Mr. Chuck. But how upsetting for the 
children ! 



-paw lix pawr. 


“Why do houses have to be cleaned?” thought Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. 
“For my part,” thought Mr. Chuck, “I thoroughly like dirt, good black 
dirt. I even like sand, nice sandy sand. Yes, I even like sand. House- 
cleaning is bad for children. No naps, no lunch, no ” 

At that moment a sweet little voice came out of the front door. 

“Papa Chuck, dear, how goes the beating?” 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., dropped the umbrella. All the umbrellas, silk, red, 
sun, and cotton fell out of his mind. Peachy fell out of his pocket. Chest- 
nut and Woodie fell off his feet. 

Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., grabbed his beater firmly and said, “It seems quite 
clean to me.” 

“Does it, dear?” said the sweet little voice again and along with the 
sweet little voice came a sweet little girl Chuck. 

“Why do you beat with the tongs, Father?” said the sweet little girl 
Chuck. 

Mr. W. Chuck Jr., threw the tongs as far as he could. Then be went 
down the hill after the umbrella. 

Chestnut put on his rubber mittens and began to dust off a mushroom. 
Wood 3d looked around for a Fire-fly. 

It was a sad moment, for after all, they all knew that the girl Chuck 
knew what they had not been doing. JFor this girl Chuck was Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr’s., quite big daughter. — Miss Cherry Chuck, herself. 





p 


JCKLED beets,” said 
Grandpapa Chuck to 
Cherry. It was the 
morning after house-cleaning, 
but she was dusting up a bit with her tail. “I shall give up pickled beets.” 

“Mr. Mouse is in sight,” called Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. Cherry’s tail 
dusted faster than ever. “Chuck children,” shouted Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., 
from the top of the Chucks’ Hill. “Here come all the Birds, come up.” 

Cherry pushed Peachy and Sarah Mud-Turtle up the hall. Sarah 
didn’t dare change her dress. She knew by the sound of Mr. Chuck’s voice, 
it was no time for Mud-Turtles to hunt for clothes. Grandpapa came along 
behind, he was still saying “pickled beets .” 

The top of the Chucks’ Hill was covered with moss seats. Woodie 
and Chestnut were moving more from the lilac grove. The syringa forest 
was making the air very sweet. 

The Birds got there first after all. Mr. Mouse was a slow walker. 
Mrs. Robin was so glad to see Cherry again. They fell to talking and singing 
about house-cleaning. “Such hard work,” sang Mrs. Robin, “to get feather 
dusters, since the war. I use a couple of my Robin babies now, tied together. 
They didn’t like it at first, but now they are quite nice about it. 'Any-' 
thing to win the war,* sings little Red-breast, as I run him around, dusting 
oiit the nest.” 

Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Blue Jay settled themselves into seats beside 
Mrs. Robin. Mr. Crow had a big moss seat near Grandpapa Chuck. 

“Did you invite B. Wow Dog?” croaked Mr. Crow to Grandpapa. 
“No,” said Grandpapa. “Son Wood was afraid Mr. Dog would forget the 
war and have a Meat Day right here. Mr. Mouse, also, didn’t want Mrs. 
Pussy Cat asked. He said Mrs. Pussy Cat was a fine furry animal, but she 


had smelt mice too keenly a great many years before she smelt war.” 

“Should say she had,” croaked Mr. Crow. “Should say she had.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Goose and Squawk and Squawkanna came waddling 
along. Mrs. Goose decided to sit in front of Mrs. Jennie Wren. Poor 
Mrs. Wren couldn’t see a thing, but was too polite to move. Mr. Mouse 
took a front seat. The Brown-tails perched on the lilac grove. Mr. Mosquito 
hummed about. He didn’t want to miss anything. “Sh ! Sh !” said Mr. 
and Mrs. Goose. 

Mr/W. Chuck, Jr., was walking slowly up the Chucks’ Hill. Every- 
body clapped paws, flapped wings, or made squeaking noises. 

“Animals and Birds,” said Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., turning slowly around. 
“Animals and Birds, Goose Family, Mr. Mosquito and others: This 
is a Thrift meeting.” 

“Thrift,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “What’s thrift?” 

“Thrift,” said Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., looking everywhere but at the 
Animals and Birds, “thrift — thrift.” 

“Thrift,” said Grandpapa Chuck, “thrift, Son Wood, is saving things.” 

“Wizzled carrots,” said Cherry. 

“Wizzled carrots,” said Grandpapa Chuck. “Very good, Cherry, very 


good.” 

“We are at war” said Grandpapa Chuck. 



“War,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. 
“War, what’s war?” 

“War,” shouted Mr. W. 
Chuck, Jr. “War is you and 
Mrs. Pussy-Cat.” 

“Goodness gracious,” 
squeaked Mr. Mouse. “Good- 
ness gracious.” 

Peachy came crawling along, 
“Is war you and Farmer Cross- 
Patch, Grandpapa Chuck?” 

“It is,” said Grandpapa 
Chuck in a very gruff voice. 
“It is.” 

“Now,” went on Grandpapa 


Chuck, ‘‘Animals like Farmer Cross-Patch fight better than we do, so they 
do the fighting. Fighting is hungry work. I have had fights with Mr. 13. 
Wow Dog that left me so hungry I could have eaten my best hat. It 
takes a great deal of food to fill the Cross-Patches. Birds and Chucks 
and Children can save food. We have come here, Animals and Birds, 
Brown-tails and Fire-flies, Mr. Mouse and the Goose family, we have come 
to talk it over, to sing it over, to squeak it over. Animals, Birds and 
others,” said Grandpapa Chuck, “what will you save, what will you do for 
the war, what will you give to fill the stomachs of the Cross-Patch' Animals?” 

“I,” said Grandpapa Chuck, “will start the giving up. Hard as it 
may be, little as life may mean without them, I give up pickled beets — 
pickled beets ,” said Grandpapa solemnly, “ pickled beets , no more .” 

“Pickled beets,” said all the Animals together, “sugar, beets, beets, 
sugar.” 

“Noble Grandpapa Chuck,” croaked Mr. Crow. 

Great paw clapping. A gentle little voice tried to speak. “Miss 
Humming Bird is talking,” said Cherry. 

“Sh ! Sh !” said Mr. Goose. 

“Buttercups,” sang Miss Humming Bird, softly. “I give up butter- 
cups. I hear the Cross-Patches eat a great deal of butter.” 

“Cowslips,” buzzed Madam Bumble-Bee, who had just come. “They 
eat meat, too. I give up cowslips.” 

Every one looked at every one else. There was something queer about 
cowslips. No one knew just what. 

“Cowslips,” said Grandpapa Chuck. “Very kind of Madam Bumble- 
Bee, I am sure.” 

“Meat,” hummed Mr. Mosquito. “Meat, must I give up meat? No 
more juicy bites of little children. No more less juicy bites of grown ups. 
Animals and Birds,” hummed Mr. Mosquito slowly and sadly. “Animals 
— and — Birds — I give — up — bites .” 

“Dear me,” squeaked Mr. Mouse, coming forward and bowing. 

“Mr. Mouse,” said all the Animals. 

“Mister-r-r Mous-s-s-e,” sang all the Birds. 

“Brown-tails, Mr. Chipmunk and all Animals, also Birds,” said Mr. 
Mouse. “I am deeply touched, you are the best Animals and other Creatures 



I have ever known. “Pickled beets, cowslips,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “I 
am proud, I am pleased, I meant to do something when I came, but some- 
thing won’t do. I must do everything.” Mr. Mouse stopped. Mr. Mouse 
coughed. Mr. Mouse squeaked a little without really squeaking anything. 
Then he spelled slowly — 

“S-n-a-p-p-y C-h-e-e-s-e. Snappy cheese. I give up snappy cheese.” 
Mr. Mouse sank on a moss seat. Cherry fanned him with her tail. 
Grandpapa Chuck wiped his eyes on the back of his paw. 

“Mr. Mouse,” said Grandpapa, “snappy cheese.” He clasped Mr. 
Mouse’s gray paw in his. 

Chestnut crawled up and laid his rubber mitten at Grandpapa’s feet. 
Sarah Mud-Turtle came behind w T ith a lump of mud. 

The Brown-tails murmured, “No more apple tree leaves for us.” 

The Birds all signed pledges to eat potato bugs. 

Mrs. Jennie Wren laid a fat worm on Chestnut s rubber mittens and 
all the time the air was full of squeaks and singings and speakings. ‘ Mr. 
Mouse had given up snappy cheese. S-n-a-p-p-y c-h-e-e-s-e.” 






cyter' 
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\ TL&t . -V7 

plimy 5mile ! ! \ 


LAD I threw away that wizzled 
carrot,” said Cherry Chuck, as she 
padded hurriedly along. She was 
going for a cabbage for supper. 

>0 The best ones grew away down the lane. 

The trouble was, the lane was Farmer Cross-Patch’s front drive. 

Mr. B. Wow Dog loved that lane. His love for that lane grew deeper, 
as the cabbages grew greener. He had a strange way of knowing the days 
the Chucks fancied cabbage for supper. Other days he would sleep all 
day quietly in the sun. But, let a Chuck even whisper “Cabbage” in the 
depths of his own front hall, sure enough, there Mr. B. Wow Dog would be, 
cheerfully looking down the lane. Mr. B. Wow Dog had the kind of a smile 
no animal likes. It was like Mrs. Pussy Cat’s paws, soft and nice to see, 
but full of pins. Mr. B. Wow Dog had a very pinny smile. 

But Cherry Chuck was feeling very gay, and nothing but a cabbage 
would do for her supper. She thought it would be rather fun to run away 
from Mr. B. Wow Dog. She knew several burrows in stone walls where she 
could go if he got too near. It was always fun to sit in a wall and hear him 
talking violently and scratching furiously outside. It was not good for an 
animal to raise his voice so. One should always speak in a low pleasant 
voice, not a scratching and biting one. Now, if Mr.' B. Wow Dog would 
only take a few lessons of Mr. Mosquito. He might hum cheerily when he 
saw a Chuck. 

A Chuck hates to have a noise made about him. 

Cherry almost stopped at Mr. B. Wow Dog’s little house to offer to 
get Mr. Mosquito for him, for some lessons. But, when she looked for a 
bit of Wild Thyme she had had in her button hole, she had lost it. So, 
since she hadn’t any time, she couldn’t stop. 

She felt very happy. Everything clean, wizzled carrot gone. She 
almost hoppity skipped. 


Mrs. Robin flew by and chirped “good morning.” The cowslips 
nodded as she went by the meadow. Everything in all the world had had 
a dew bath. Some of the flowers still had drops of dew clinging to them. 
“Short of bath towels,” thought Cherry. “Flowers are no housekeepers.” 
She passed the Browntails in a long procession. “Moving again,” said 
Cherry. Yes, they were going into a nice lot of pear trees, they said. 

Cherry was glad the Browntails didn’t care for vegetables. Supposing 
they took to cabbages! 

She hurried on. She wished she had brought Mr. Chuck’s umbrella. 
The sun was really very hot. It was 
a long way to the cabbage patch. 

Queer, too, not a sound of Mr. B. 

Wow Dog. Where could he be? He 
never could hide quietly and jump out 
suddenly. He could always be heard 
a long way off coming through the 
bushes. Mr. B. Wow Dog was a clumsy 
animal. But where had he gone? Cherry 
felt worried. She wished Mr. Chuck 
had come, or even Grandpapa. 

She could have waited for him 


to put on his best hat. Yes, she ought 
to have done that. 

Poor Grandpapa, he was so fond of 
his best hat. She should have waited. 
She really needed some one to carry 
the market basket. It would be heavy 
when she had the cabbage in it. 
Even Woodie would have been a help. 
If she had brought Mr. W. Chuck, 
Jr’s, umbrella, Woodie could have carried that. If she had only brought 
Woodie and the umbrella! 

She began to feel less happy. Mr. Crow went croaking by. He was 
in black as usual. He looked gloomy. 




He 
looked 



minute. She kept looking for Mr. B. Wow Dog. She had forgotten that 
the house was clean. She wanted Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. She wanted Woodie, 
and Chestnut, and Peachy, and Sarah Mud-Turtle. She even wanted 
Grandpapa, and oh ! how she wanted his best hat. 

She crawled along. The wall looked full of eyes. The trees shooK 
their leaves at her. She was sure they wanted to say something she couldn’t 
understand. Mr. Bull-Frog, off in the distance, was singing a very solemn 
song. 

Why have cabbage any way? She could just as well have had radishes. 
She wasn’t hungry herself. The cabbages grew small in her mind. In her 
mind they seemed rather wizened. Why trouble to get any supper? Cherry 
was hardly even crawling now. Her apron was askew. Her market basket 
was upside down. She was frightened. Everything was very still. Mr. 
Frog was perfectly quiet. The leaves didn’t even rustle. Mr. Crow, away 
off somewhere, stopped croaking. Cherry held her breath. 

There was a terrible rumble and grumble and roar, and, from behind 
the wall, rushed Mr. B. Wow Dog, Mrs. B. Wow Dog, and all the little B. 
Wow Dogs. A horrible doggy noise filled the air. A loud squeak came from 
Cherry, and then a mouse quietness with low growlings came into the lane. 




M RS. COW is the thief of Thyme. 

A long winter brings a hun- 
gry spring. 

Snappy cheese sometimes covers dis- 
aster (mouse- trap). 





^HE GROWLINGS and doggy noises 
grew louder. Cherry Chuck hid her 
eyes with her paws. Why look and 
see yourself eaten? 

She felt Mr. B. Wow Dog’s hot breath 
on* her furry cheek. She could see him nipping out a fat bite of her furry 
back. She could hear him barking for joy. 

When — just as all this was almost happening, something heavy fell 
on her nbck. It was not a paw. It was not a bill. It was a hand. 

Cherry had never felt a hand before, but she knew it. She had dreamed 
about hands. Bad dreams. She heard a voice. She knew voices, she had 
heard them before. 

If she could, she would have wizzled up like the carrot. She wished 
she were Mr. Mosquito, so she could prick that hand. She took her paws 
off her eyes. 

Mr. B. Wow Dog, Mrs. B. Wow Dog, and all the little B. W T ow Dogsies 
were tearing down the lane. 

She peeped out under the hand that held her. Up above it, was an 
E-N-O-R-M-O-U-S Animal with the same kind of fur as Farmer Cross- 


Patch. 

The E-N-O-R-M-O-U-S Animal kept saying, “Wood Chuck, Wood 
Chuck.” 

Cherry Chuck thought the animal rude. She thought he should speak 
of Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., properly. She almost forgot her own troubles. She 
knew Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., would not like it at all. As for Grandpapa, he 
surely couldn’t be speaking of him, an old Chuck like that. 

She forgot the hand and tried to straighten her apron, but the hand 
was still there. 


“Wish I had a bag,” said the voice, “Glad you haven’t,” thought 
Cherry. “ Glad you haven’t.” 

“I have to tie you up, my dear,” said the voice. 

“Dear, indeed,” thought Cherry. She almost spoke to the voice 
about it, but before she had time, something went over her head. Cherry 
did quite a little talking inside. It sounded like Chestnut, only ten times 
more wooly. Cherry firmly said, that she did not care to have her head 
tied up. That she had no toothache, that she had no headache, that she 
had no mumps. In fact, that she had no head-tying-up sickness at all. 

The voice of the E-N-O-R-M-O-U-S Animal never spoke. 

The mind of Cherry Chuck was full of fears. She forgot the cabbage. 
She forgot Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. She forgot Woodie, and Chestnut, and 
Peachy, and Sarah Mud-Turtle. She even forgot Grandpapa’s best hat. 

She seemed to be moving, but her legs were still. She could hear Mr. 
Frog singing his solemn song. It grew fainter and fainter. Where could she 
be going? 

It seemed years to Cherry, as she was jolted along. There was a 
horrible din in her ears. There were horrible thoughts in her head. Woodie, 
and Chestnut, and Peachy, and Sarah Mud-Turtle would have no supper. 
They would starve. In her mind she saw them growing thin and pale. A 

brown pale, the way a Chuck gets. 
She saw Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., starving, 
too. She was sorry she ' threw away 
the wizzled carrot. He might have 
dug around and found that. 

Poor Grandpapa, nobody to brush 

his best hat. 

What would happen 
to Peachy’s tail, no- 
body to brush that, 
either. 

She wished she could 
ask the E-N-O-R- 
M-O-U-S Animal to 
get a cabbage and take 
it around to her family. 



She talked a good deal about cabbages, but the E-N-O-R-M-O-U-S Animal 
never stopped. 

She grew more and more sad. She began to have all the head-tying-up 
troubles. Her head ached, her teeth ached, she very nearly had the mumps. 

What if the children should have the mumps while she was away? 
She could see them, in her mind, with their heads all tied up, mumping away, 
without any sister. 

Still it was a good thing they had heads, in which to have the mumps. 
Whgt if they hadn’t any heads? That was a sad thought. Four headless 
children. They could never have any best hats. The joy of being Grand- 
papas would be gone. For what would Grandpapa Chuck be without his 
best hat? 

By this time Cherry was sure the children hadn’t any heads. It was 
a very sad thought. She began to plan their lives without heads. She 
couldn’t seem to plan any plan that didn’t have eating in it. There didn’t 
seem to be anything in the world to do but eat. What would life be without 
eating? 

This thought made Cherry very hungry. She thought of beets. She 
thought of corn. Worst thought of all, she thought of cabbages. How good 
a nice crunchy bit of cabbage would be! 

She gnawed the thing over her head. It had a poor taste. If she only 

had one radish. If she only had one beet. If she only her voice died 

away in a squeak. The E-N-O-R-M-O-U-S Animal was stopping. 

The E-N-O-R-M-O-U-S Animal was poking her. 

Poking her , Cherry Chuck, daughter of Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., sister of 
Wood Chuck 3d, Chestnut Chuck and Peachy Chuck. Aunt of Sarah Mud- 
Turtle. Poking her, Cherry Chuck, brusher of Grandpapa Chuck’s best 
hat! 





R. L. E. PHANT 
went slowly down 
Rhinoceros Boule- 
vard. It was a very hot day. 

He felt like having his trunk 
packed with ice. He bowed 
warmly to Mr. G. Raffe. 

Mr. G. Raffe was in the collar business. He always showed the collars 
himself. His neck was such a good place to show collars. Mr. G. Raffe 
began, at once, to talk about the spots on his clothes. He said he never 
could get them off. What was worse, they seemed to be all over him. Now, 
a few in front wouldn’t make much difference. 

If they were only under his chin, he could wear a long floppy tie. A 
red one. The Zoo Journal would say, “Mr. G. Raffe, neatly dressed in a red 
tie , was a welcome guest of the Monkey 
Club.” But, how would it read now, 

“Mr. G. Raffe covered with spots ” 

Mr. G. Raffe felt worse about the spots 
than Mr. L. E. Phant did about his 
trunk. 

Mr. L. E. Phant did say two or three 
things about ice and trunks, while Mr. 

G. Raffe was talking. He didn’t care 
much about the spots. He couldn’t 
hear very well. The speaking about They’d 
spots was so far above him. He was tiev ^^. Come 
busy thinking about the iceman any- 
way. He kept walking slowly along. 



He might have loaned me a cake of soap out of his trunk, thought Mr. 
G. Raffe, still brushing away at the spots. 

Mr. L. E. Phant moved heavily on, down Rhinoceros Boulevard. It 
grew hotter. He wished he had worn his hat. He had a new one made of 
pink and white awning cloth — striped. Every one looked pleasant when he 
wore his hat. He didn’t quite like it. They looked a little too pleasant. 
Still, it was better to be laughed at, than to melt. Think of melting in a 
large gray heap! He almost forgot he was passing Monkey Villa until he 
heard them all chattering something. 

“What is it? What’s that?” he said quickly. “A new girl animal. 
No one spoke to me about her. Brown, you say, Brown, must be some of 
the Brown Bear family. I’ll go right over and see.” Mr. L. E. Phant 
hurried on. He forgot that his trunk was packed with heat, instead of ice. 
He forgot that he hadn’t worn his pink and white hat. A new girl animal 
and he knew nothing about it. 

He saw Mr. H. J. Kangaroo coming by leaps. Mr. H. J. Kangaroo 
always hopped. 

“Good morning, H. J.,” said Mr. L. E. Phant hotly. H. J. was short 
for High Jump. 

“Good morning,” said Mr. Kangaroo, hopping by. 

“Where are you going so fast?” said Mr. L. E. Phant. 

“To pick some hops,” called Mr. Kangaroo, as he leaped out of sight, 

“I’m almost out of them.” 

“Hops,” mumbled Mr. L. E. Phant, 
“seems to have plenty to me.” He 
turned around from looking after Mr. 
H. J. Kangaroo. Mr. L. E. Phant was 
a lumbering animal and never looked 
where he was going. 

He ran into Mr. Seal’s home. Mr. 
Seal, who was sitting on a huge rock, 
fell off into his tank and wet his new 
sealskin coat. He came up spluttering 
and pulling his whiskers out of his 
mouth. He said he had not meant to 




wet that coat. He had thought he would keep it dry, for sitting on the rock. 

He made such a noise of spluttering that Mr. Lion poked his head out 
as far as he could. It was a short poke, his front door had bars. Mr. Lion 
roared to find out what w r as the matter. Mr. L. E. Phant trumpeted. He 
was soaked. Mr. Seal made such a splashing. He felt that he should 
sneeze. 

Mr. Seal spluttered gallons of water. He flapped his flappers in large 
waves. 

Mrs. Zebra, who w T as out to show her new striped dress, was furious. 
She was afraid she would spot. Fancy a spotted Zebra. No such thing was 
ever known in the animal world. She was in the dress business, what should 
she do? No one would ever buy anything of her again. Start out striped 
and come back spotted! No animal could stand that. 

Mrs. Cinnamon Bear even wished to smell spicy in her clothes. What 
should she do if the Cinnamon smell washed out? As for Mrs. Camel, she 
always had to promise her that her new hump wouldn’t shrink. 

Mrs. Zebra was almost spotted. Mr. Tiger was grinding his teeth. 
Mr. L. E. Phant trumpeted still louder. The whole Zoo began to talk. All 
the Monkeys chattered. Mr. Hyena laughed. Mr. Seal spluttered louder 
than ever. Mr. Paul Parrot yelled, “Polly wants a cracker.” 

Kind Mrs. Hippopotamus thought he was really hungry, and let the 
lid of the cracker box down with a bang. That stirred up the Peacock 
family, who began to shriek. 

Mr. H. J. Kangaroo came leaping up. “Sh, Sh,” he said. 

Mr. Lion stopped roaring. 

Mr. Hyena’s laugh died away in a chuckle. 

Mr. L. E. Phant put his trumpet away in his trunk. 

Everything was quiet. 

Then a sweet little voice, a very sweet little voice indeed, was heard 
saying, “Not so much noise, dear animals, I’m going to take a nap.” 

It was the new girl animal of the Zoo. 




HINOCEROS Boulevard was as hot 
as pepper. It almost bit your tongue. 
Mr. L. E. Fhant went slowly along 
peering into every cage for a small, brown 
girl animal. 

“Miss Brown Bear,” he whispered. “Miss 
Brown Bear.” 

He just couldn’t have any one else see her 
first, But Miss Brown Bear never answered. 

There were fewer cages now and more 
grass. He couldn’t understand it. Miss 
Brown Bear would surely have a cage of her 
own. She would never be given a home with 
any one else. 

Mr. Deer and Mrs. Doe had a lovely grassy patch with a nice wire 
fence around it. Mr. L. E. Pliant stopped and said in a loud whisper, “Have 
you seen Miss Brown Bear?” 

“Miss Brown Bear,” whispered Mr. Deer and Mrs. Doe and shook 
their heads. 

Then there came a funny squeaky little whisper from a pile of grass 
in the yard next Mr. Deer and Mrs. Doe. “Miss Brown Bear,” said the 
little whisper, squeakily. 

Mr. L. E. Phant] listened. His ears were so big he could hardly 
hear such a little whisper. Sure enough it came again. “Miss Brown 
Bear.” 

Mr. L. E. Pliant looked very carefully into the next yard. There 
wasn’t a thing there but a pile of grass. 

“Grass never squeaks,” said Mr. L. E. Pliant. 

“But it often whispers,” said Mrs. Doe. 


“That’s so,” said Mr. L. E. Phant, scratching his head with his trunk. 
“It often does whispei^.” 

“It might squeak,” said Mr. Deer. “There are different kinds of 
grass. No one animal can know all the different kinds. Green grass,- 
marsh grass, grasshoppers. Maybe they squeak. Upon my word, I believe 
they do.” 

Mr. L. E. Phant. nearly scratched his trunk off. “Maybe they do, 
maybe they do,” he said in a very meek whisper. The grasshoppers had 
mixed him all up. After all, what had they to do with Miss Brown Bear? 

He never noticed that the heap of grass was moving. Then there 
came a little sigh. 

“Grasshoppers never sigh,” cried Mrs. Doe. 

“Never,” said a squeaky little voice from the heap of grass. Then 
the grass flew into the air and a small brown animal walked out. 

“Who says grasshoppers sigh?” said the small brown animal. “Oh,” 
she said, “good morning, Mrs. Doe, good morning, Mr. Deer, I know your 
family at home.” 

Then before any one could say a single word, her little brown face all 
screwed up in a fearful screw. “At home,” said she, “at ho-o-o-o-m-e” 
she wailed. Big drops of water began running down her cheeks. 

Mr. L. E. Phant thought it was raining and looked up at the sky. No 
animal ever cried in the Zoo. They always roared, or chattered, or growled, 
or screamed. 

Mrs. Doe knew crying. Her lovely big eyes knew how to cry. “Poor 

little animal,” she said over the fence. 
“Poor dear little animal, what is your 
name?” 

“Miss Chuck,” sobbed the little 
brown animal. “Miss Cherry Chuck, 
sister of Woodie Chuck and Chestnut 
Chuck and Peachy Chuck. Aunt of 
Sarah Mud-Turtle, daughter of Mr. 
W. Chuck, Jr., granddaughter of Mr. 
Wood Chuck.” 

“There,” said Mr. Deer, “I thought 
so. I know your grandpapa.” 




“So do I know him,” cried Cherry. 
“I brush his best hat.” 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Deer, “he 
still has that hat! I remember it well.” 

“I do, too,” said Cherry, coming up to the fence. “I do too-o-o-o,” 
she wailed, bursting out crying again, harder than ever. 

“Don’t you feel happy, Miss Berry?” said Mr. L. E. Phant. 

“I won’t be called a berry, Mr. Mountain,” . said Cherry, stopping 
crying at once. “I will not be called a berry.” 

“Good gracious,” said Mr. L. E. Phant, “good gracious me. Don’t be 
called a berry, but don’t call me a mountain.” 

Mr. L. E. Phant was very hot and very cross and very much bigger 
than Cherry. About one hundred and fourteen times bigger. So Mrs. 
Doe tried to stop the quarrel. 

“This is Mr. L. E. Phant,” said Mrs. Doe to Cherry, “our largest 
animal.” 

“L. E. Phant,” shrieked Cherry, “he looks like Mr. Mountain, any- 
way.” 

“I will not be called a mountain,” said Mr. L. E. Phant. “I am not 
a mountain. I never saw a mountain. I never heard of a mountain. I 
w T ill not be a mountain.” 

“Peace, peace,” said Mrs. Doe. She was really frightened. Cherry 
was crying as hard as she could cry. Mr. L. E. Phant was trumpeting very 
loud, but when she said “peace, peace,” he stopped a minute. 

“Piece of what?” he said. 

“Piece of meat,” said Mr. H. J. Kangaroo, who was hopping by, 
“dinner’s ready.” 

Mr. L. E. Phant never stopped to finish the quarrel. He didn’t care 
a peanut whether the girl animal was a berry or a cherry. Perhaps he was a 
mountain, he didn’t know. What he did know was that Mr. Lion and Mr. 
Leo Pard liked meat. Piece of meat. He had better hurry. His voice 
grew almost sweet. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Doe. Piece of meat,” he said under his breath. 
“Good morning, Mr. Deer. Good morning, Miss Berry, so glad to see you 
in the Zoo.” He lumbered off down the Boulevard as fast as he could go, 
mumbling, “Peace, peace, piece of meat.” 





OOD morning, 
Mr. H. J. 
Kangaroo,” 
said Cherry, pleasant- 
ly. Mr. Kangaroo 
stopped outside her fence. 

“Heard the news?” he said excitedly. 
4<No ’” said Chevr y> "What is it? Won’t 
"hop qd. V * you down?” she said very politely. She 
really wanted to see if he could sit down. 

“Can’t stop,” said Mr. Kangaroo. “I must hop on.” Then, in a loud 
tone, speaking very jerkily, “Mr. — Lion — gone.” 

“Gone,” said Cherry, “gone where?” 

“No where,” said Mr. Kangaroo. “Every where. Gone, gone with 
loud roars. Nobody is safe,” said Mr. Kangaroo, “he’d take a nip out of 
me as soon as anybody. He has a hot temper, that animal.” 

“Dear me,” said Cherry, “dear me. He’d never notice eating me.” 

“He’d be glad to do it,” said Mr. Kangaroo, “glad to do it. However, 
he didn’t wait to eat any one here. Just took one bite off his keeper. The 
keeper didn’t like it. Seems to think Mr. Lion was rude. He ought to be 
thankful he wasn’t eaten. What does a mouthful more or less amount to?” 
Cherry’s paws were shaking. 

A mouthful more or less. She was just about a mouthful for Mr. Lion. 

Mr. H. J. Kangaroo hopped on. He wanted a Zoo Journal. Some one 
might have written a poem on Mr. Lion or put in his photograph. Sure 
enough, there was a picture of him on the front page and underneath some 
beautiful poetry: — 


Mr. Lion’s left the Zoo, 

Took a bit of Keeper, too, 
Never roared a kind farewell, 
Never said he wished us well. 

Mr. Lion’s left the Zoo, 

Left in quite a temper, too, 
Never even let us guess, 

We should be a lion less. 

Mr. Lion’s left the Zoo, 

Not a word to Kangaroo. 

As he did not want for food, 
We must call it very rude. 


The 2 

Zoo J oxirnAl . 



“How beautiful,” said Mr. Kangaroo, hopping for joy. “I’m in a 
poem. I’m in a poem.” 

“Never would have been,” growled Mr. Cinnamon Bear, “never 
would have been, if you hadn’t rhymed with Zoo.” 

“Zoo — Kangaroo — Kangaroo — Zoo, ha, ha,” laughed Mr. Hyena. 

Mr. Kangaroo went hopping sadly back. When he got to Cherry 
Chuck’s little yard, he saw her paws were still shaking. 

“What’s the matter?” said Mr. Kangaroo, kindly. 

“I’ve got to go home,” said Cherry. 

“Home, what’s that?” said Mr. Kangaroo. 

“Home,” said Cherry, “why home’s home. It’s grandpapa and the 
lunch basket and Chestnut and Peachy and rubber mittens and Sarah 
Mud-Turtle. It’s everything,” said poor, frightened Cherry, trying not to 
cry. “They’ll be eaten. Mr. Lion will eat them. I must go home.” 

“There, there,” said Mr. Kangaroo, “where is it, where is home?” 

“I don’t know,” said Cherry, “but I am sure I could smell it, if I 
tried.” 


“Dear me,” said Mr. Kangaroo,“I want to smell it too,” and he gave 
a very big sniff. 

“Not here,” said Cherry, “I couldn’t smell it here. I can’t smell 
* anything fenced in.” 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Kangaroo, “you are fenced in.” 


“Yes,” said Cherry, “I am fenced in.” 

“You are fenced in. I am fenced in,” said both of them together. 

“I can’t get out,” said Cherry. 

“You can’t get out,” said Mr. Kangaroo. 

“I, you, can’t get out,” said both of them. 

“Can’t get out,” said Mr. G. Raffe, who was going by, “who wants 
to get out?” 

“Miss Chuck,” said Mr. Kangaroo, “she wants to go home.” 

“I see,” said Mr. G. Raffe, stopping beside Mr. Kangaroo. 

“But she can’t get over her fence,” said Mr. Kangaroo. 

“ Can’t get over her fence,” said Mr. G. Raffe, peering over at Cherry. 
By this time Mr. Deer and Mrs. Doe were looking over their side of 
the fence. Mrs. Zebra came along and joined G. Raffe and H. J. Kangaroo. 
Mrs. Camel humped by and stopped. 

The fence was almost full of animals. 

“Miss Cherry Chuck wants to go home,” sajd Mrs. Doe. 

“Wants to go home,” echoed Mr. Deer. 

“Home,” said G. Raffe. 

“Home,” said Mrs. Camel and all the rest of the animals together. 
“Home,” shrieked Paul Parrot. 

“Home,” spluttered Mr. Seal. 

“Home,” screamed, roared, shouted animals all over the Zoo. 
“Ho-o-o-o-m-e,” sobbed Cherry. 

Just then Mr. L. E. Phant lumbered into sight. 

“What’s the matter?” said he. 

“He’s a slow old soul,” said Mr. Kangaroo, poking G. Raffe. 

“Dresses so badly,” said Mrs. Zebra, “his clothes are nearly always 
wrinkled.” 

“But then he uses his trunk for nearly everything except clothes,” 
said Mrs. Camel. 

“Why not to get Miss Chuck over the fence?” said Kangaroo quickly. 
“Miss Berry?” said L. E. Phant. “Course I will. Course I will.” And 
before Cherry could say squashes, she found herself standing in the middle 
of Rhinoceros Boulevard. 





mr 

salo 


shouted, screamed, whistled, 
spluttered all the animals together. 
“Hop,” yelled H. J. Kangaroo. 
“Hump,” shrieked Mrs. Camel. 

For there stood Cherry Chuck in the very 
middle of Rhinoceros Boulevard and down the 
Boulevard almost at Weasel Lane came a 
Hop ! ! HXimp ! { f keeper. Would he come down Rhinoceros 
Boulevard? Would he go down Weasel 
Lane? 

Every animal held its breath. Cherry knew she was caught. She saw 
cages and bars. She saw E-n-o-r-m-o-u-s Animals. She saw no more 
Chucks. She wanted to go home worse than ever. She wished she had 
never called Mr. L. E. Pliant, Mr. Mountain. He was a kind animal. She 
wished she was behind the fence. She wished to be called Miss Berry. 
Poor Cherry wished everything in the world, except being in the middle of 
Rhinoceros Boulevard. 

The keeper came along quite fast. He passed Weasel Lane. 

Cherry was lost. Cherry’s heart went down and stayed in her fur boots. 
Her paws were cold enough to have made an Ice man shiver. Her teeth 
chattered like the Monkey family. 

All the Animals trembled. 

Cherry was caught. There was no hope. 

The Chuck family would never have a big sister again. Grandpapa’s 
best hat would stay un-brushed. There would be no aunt for Sarah Mud- 
Turtle. 


The Keeper was coming faster. He saw all the animals together. He 
knew something was the matter. He fairly ran down Rhinoceros Boulevard. 

Cherry was nothing but a little heap of Chuck. She had no paws. 
She had no eyes. She had no tail. She seemed like no Chuck at all. 

Just then, Miss Tortoise crossed the Boulevard. Miss Tortoise was a 
relative of Sarah Mud-Turtle’s. She was a wise old animal. She saw 
something must be done for Sarah Mud-Turtle’s Aunt, for Sarah Mud- 
Turtle’s poor little Aunt, Cherry Chuck. By this time, Cherry was only 
a very small ball of Chuck fur. 

The other animals were making dreadful roarings and gruntings and 
squeakings. 

The Keeper was coming faster than ever. His eyes were on H. J. 
Kangaroo, who was hopping straight up and down. 

The Keeper never looked at Rhinoceros Boulevard. He never saw Miss 
Tortoise crawling along. He never knew the plan she had in her wise old 
head. 

For before he could say, White Mice, Miss Tortoise and his feet were in 
a frightful heap. 

There was a loud thump. Rhinoceros Boulevard and the Keeper’s 
nose had hit each other. The Keeper’s back lay very still. Every animal 
was looking at him. Even Cherry’s head came out of the ball of Chuck 
fur. 

Miss Tortoise crawled slowly out of the mess of Keeper’s back, feet ana 
nose. 

“Run,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “run.” All the animals seemed 
to wake up. Somebody must run. 

“Run,” said Miss Tortoise again, “run.” 



\W' V \ 




Mr. G. Raffe straightened his collar 
and brushed away at his spots. If 
he had to run, he wished to look well. 

All the animals looked at each other. 

Who should start running? No animal 
wished to be greedy about starting. 

The Keeper stirred. Some animal 
must start. There lay Cherry. She 
just couldn’t run. 

Miss Tortoise’s voice sounded hoarse 
“Run,” she said, “you must run.” 

“Run,” said Mr. L. E. Phant 
“course we’ll run.” He grabbed Cher- 
ry. He put her in his trunk. “Run,” 
grunted he, “course we’ll run.” 

J '' “Run,” yelled G. Raffe. 

“Run,” screamed H. J. Kangaroo. 

Down Rhinoceros Boulevard went Mr. L. E. Phant. 

H. J. Kangaroo and G. Raffe were making such a noise that Mr. L. E. 
Phant got a good start. 

On lumbered Mr. L. E. Phant, on went Mr. G. Raffe. H. J. Kangaroo 
hopping along as fast as he could with Mrs. Camel humping behind. Even 
Miss Tortoise hurried across Rhinoceros Boulevard. 


ft 


XXTX 



The Keeper was stirring a great deal. No one could hear Miss Tortoise 
though she still said “run” every time she could get her breath. 

The Keeper got up — what on earth was the matter with all the animals? 
He had never seen Mr. L. E. Phant galloping along at such a pace. It was 
such a hot day — his nose hurt. Rhinoceros Boulevard had hit it a dread- 
ful whack. 

The Keeper stepped on Rhinoceros Boulevard as hard as he could. 
He wished he could hurt Rhinoceros Boulevard by stepping on it, as much as 
Rhinoceros Boulevard had hurt his nose. He supposed he had better run. 
Before he could make up his mind, all the animals were out of sight. He 
started off as fast as he could go. Not an animal anywhere. 

Rhinoceros Boulevard grew hotter, so did the Keeper. He turned into 
Parrot Row. All the Parrots talked as fast as they could, when they saw 
him. “Water” shrieked Grandmamma Parrot and made a noise like pulling 
a cork out of a bottle. 

The Keeper hated her worse than he hated Rhinoceros Boulevard. 

Still, there went the animals way at the end of the Row. Mr. L. E. 
Phant was going slower now. Mr. H. J. Kangaroo could hardly hop. 
What would become of Cherry Chuck? Mrs. Camel could barely hump 
along. Mr. L. E. Phant was dropping Cherry. Dropping her in front of a 
high fence. Squashes and turnips, thought Cherry. Does the animal think 
I can climb? Radishes and beets, does he think I am Mr. Monkey? 

Cherry was on the ground by this time. She was trembling in all her 
paws. Nothing in front but a higher fence. Nothing behind but a cross 
Keeper. Poor Cherry was sorry for Woodie and Chestnut and Peachy. 
She was sorry for Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. She was sorry for Grandpapa Chuck 
and Sarah Mud-Turtle. But Cherry was sorriest of all for Miss Cherry 
Chuck herself. There was no use crying, there was no use 

What, what did Mr. L. E. Phant say 

“Quick, Miss Berry, dig,” said Mr. L. E. Phant. 

“Dig,” said Cherry, “dig where?” 

“Under the fence,” said Mr. L. E. Phant — “Under the fence. Dig, 
Miss Berry, dig quick ” 

And Miss Berry dug. 




^Good-ljye'* 


HEN the Keeper got to the 
end of Parrot Row nothing 
seemed to be happening. 
Mr. L. E. Phant was standing in the 
shade of the fence cooling off after his run. H. J. 
Kangaroo had hopped away. Mrs. Camel was 
chatting with Miss Flamingo and G. Raffe was looking 
over the fence. G. Raffe was always looking over 
the fence. He was the only animal who was tall 
enough. 

Queer, thought the Keeper, on a boiling hot day like this, for all those 
animals to run. 

He never saw the hole under the fence, for Mr. L. E. Phant had his foot 
on it. He never knew there was no Cherry Chuck in the heap of grass be- 
side Mr. Deer and Mrs. Doe. He never saw Miss Tortoise laughing at him, 
as he trudged back along Rhinoceros Boulevard. 

The Keeper wished he had let the animals run. His nose hurt. He 
was too warm. He hated running* He wondered what G. Raffe saw over 



the fence. He would have wondered 
more if he had seen, for on the other 
side of that fence sat Cherry Chuck. 
Cherry Chuck sniffing. 

Cherry’s fur coat was covered with 
dirt. Cherry’s paws were sore. Cher- 
ry’s face was dirty. But Cherry was 
safe. No more Zoo. No more L. E. 
Phant. No more Kangaroo. 

But where was 
home? Cherry snif- 
fed on. She couldn’t 
smell it. She couldn’t 
smell home. 

X 

X 

% 




forever, *nd v n'd ever 0 0 0 0 

What should she do? A Chuck child all alone. No home. No Zoo. 

The B. Wow Dogs lived everywhere. She would be eaten by an Uncle 
or Aunt B. Wpw Dog. She disliked being eaten. Dirt, dirt, everywhere and 
in the middle a small brown Chuck. She sniffed again. She almost smelt 
onions. Did she quite? She couldn’t stay here forever. She was too near 
the Zoo. What if thfe Keeper saw the hole! L. E. Phant couldn’t stand on 
the hole forever. Why didn’t G. Raffe go away? Some one was sure to 
wonder what he was looking at. 

“Good-bye, G. Raffe,” she called, “politest good-byes to dear Mr. L. E. 
Phant. Tell him I wish him many peanuts. Good-bye to Mr. Kangaroo. 
Best hops to him. Don’t forget me, Mr. G. Raffe.” 

“Couldn’t forget you, dear Miss Berry,” mumbled L. E. Phant behind 
the fence. “Good-bye,” screamed, yelled, roared, spluttered the whole Zoo. 

“For the land’s sake,” said the Keeper, “what ails those animals?” 


“Good-bye, dear animals,” saida very dirty little brown Chuck crawling 
off down the road. 

The very dirty little brown Chuck was a very lonesome little Chuck 
too. There were great fields all around. There were no stone walls. No 
places to hide. Nothing to do but go on and on and on. Probably she 
would go on and on and on forever. In thirty-three years animals would 
say, this is the road Cherry Chuck went on forever, ’nd ever, ’nd ever. It 
was a dull road, not a bush, not a turnip. 

Dusty too! She was dirty enough before. No nice girl Chuck ever 
had such looking boots. 

It was hot too, not quite as hot as the Zoo, but very hot. If she only 
had an umbrella. Not a leaf to make one. She was hungry. Not a radish. 
She, at least had food in the Zoo. She rather liked the Zoo after all. There 
were pleasant animals there. She had grown very fond of Mr. L. E. Phant. 
Though lumbering, he was kind. H. J. Kangaroo was a fine animal. How 
he did hop! Mrs. Zebra too, so stylish. She would make Sarah Mud- 
Turtle a striped dress. 

The thought of Sarah Mud-Turtle was a sad one. She should never 
seo Sarah again. Sarah would never have a striped dress. She would never 
meet Sarah on this horrible road. Sarah never went where it was dusty. 
There was no mud here for Sarah. 

Poor Grandpapa, she knew Mr. W. Chuck Jr. would never do pickled 
beets for him and Grandpapa loved pickled beets. 

The road was four hundred miles long. The road was dustier than 
house cleanings. She was a miserable Chuck. 

Cherry sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry and as she 
cried she sniffed. She had gone a long way without sniffing. At first she 
sniffed because she was crying, then she sniffed because she was sniffing 

and lastly she sniffed because Cherry got up quickly and sniffed very 

hard. She smelt onions, she was sure she did. What a beautiful smell! 
There never was such a smell. Onions. Tiny little onions with green 
feathers sticking out. Middling sized onions just right for your paw. Big 
fat Bermuda onions. 

Cherry was so hungry, she thought of them all. Wherever home might 
be, here were onions. If she had something to eat, perhaps she could smell 
home. 


Cherry set out for the onions. In fact, she set out so fast, she almost 
forgot how hungry she was. The onion smell grew stronger every minute. 
The dusty road was getting less dusty. There were big fields of green grass. 
The onion smell led across one of them. Cherry stopped and ate a grass 
sandwich. Grass sandwiches were very fair eating. There was a bit of 
sorrel in the grass and just a taste of clover. Rather nice for tea at home. 
But where was home? The onion smell was a good one, but the home smell! 

Cherry crawled through a stone wall. It seemed as if the onions would 
never come in sight. She was crawling more slowly now. Grass sandwiches 
were all very well, but she needed more food. 

There was something stirring in those bushes. Cherry crawled very 
Hear the ground. Who could it be? The bushes rustled furiously. Cherry 
thought of Mr. Lion. He must have shrunk a good deal, for they were only 
blackberry bushes. He was probably hungry. Cherry wouldn’t have 
made half a bite for Mr. Lion at that moment. She looked like the wizzled 
carrot. Poor Cherry was tired and hungry and dusty and scared. Very 
scared. Scared from the end of her little brown nose to the tip of her 
beautiful brown tail. 

The bushes gave a big rustle. 

The heart of Cherry gave a big thump, and out popped 

M-r. M-o-u-s-e. 



/ 



O NE L. E. Phant does not make 
a Zoo. 

A roving Chuck gathers no 

fat. 

Distance lends enchantment to 
B. Wow Dog. 


Rather to be desired is Mouse 
Quietness than a whole Zoo. 










Chuck, daughter of Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., 

granddaughter of Grandpapa Wood Chuck, cLninicil? 

Aunt of Sarah Mud-Turtle.” 

“Yes, yes,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “I know the family. I know the 
Chuck family well.” 

“ Where are they?” said Cherry. “Where are they, are they eaten?” 
“Eaten,” squeaked Mr. Mouse, “certainly not. Eaten, bless my paws, 
I hope not. Who eats Chucks? Very poor eating, I should squeak. 
Tough,” squeaked Mr. Mouse, “ ex-ceed-ing-ly tough.” 

“Mr. Lion,” said Cherry, “Mr. Lion from the Zoo, I am sure he would.” 
“Dear me,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “I don’t seem to know Mr. Lion. 
Hm, hum,” he squeaked, “large animal?” 

“Large,” said Cherry, “large! He is as big, as big, as big as a million 
Mice.” 

“Dear me,” squeaked Mr. Mouse, “too large to be noticed, relative of 
Mrs. Cow probably. Dull animal, Mrs. Cow.” 

“Where is home?” said Cherry. “H-o-o-m-e.” 

“Home,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “I can’t quite say. I’m just moving. 
I always have disliked Mrs. Pussy-Cat at Farmer Cross-Patch’s. But 
now, my dear Cherry, it’s worse than ever. Worse than ever. Four Pussy- 


Cat babies. It’s no life for me/’ squeaked Mr. Mouse. “I think I shall 
take a hole in the barn. But I hate leaving Farmer Cross-Patch, he has 
such a fine taste in cheese.” 

“Not your home, dear Mr. Mouse,” said Cherry, who had been trying 
to speak, “not Mouse home, Chuck home.” 

“I see, I see,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “Why don’t you go home Cherry, 
if you want to? Don’t let me keep you. I only thought ” 

“Mr. Mouse,” shrieked Cherry. “Where is home, Chuck home, 
I’m lost. I’ve been runned away with. I’ve got out of the Zoo. I’m 
h-u-n-g-r-e-e.” 

“Yes, yes,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “I wish I had a bit of cheese. A 

bit of ” Then he broke off cheerfully. “ I see Mr. Muskrat has a sign 

out, ‘Hole to Let’. What do you think of that, Cherry?” 

Cherry shook her head. 

Mr. Mouse wondered why, then he remembered Cherry was hungry. 

“Sorry,” squeaked he, “sorry I haven’t a scrap of cheese about me. 
Snappy cheese or otherwise.” He scratched his ear to help himself think. 

“W 7 hy don’t you get your lunch at home, Cherry?” 

“Mr. Mouse,” said Cherry sitting up very straight and speaking very 
slowly. “I — am — lost. I — can’t— find — home.” 

“Bless my paws,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. “Bless my paws, lost. 
Lost what?” 

Cherry sat down in a little heap. 

WLat was the matter with Mr. Mouse? 

She wished he would stop squeaking and 
go away. She would rather be alone. 

The field was a pleasant one. She 
would starve in the blackberry bushes. 

A sad Chuck starve. No Fire-fly to 
light the way. No Wild Thyme to tell 
her how long it took. Dusty paws, 
dusty coat, dusty boots. A dusty 
heap of starved Chuck. Cherry was 
too tired to cry. Mr. Mouse was 
making notes of new holes. 

“I really think,” squeaked he, “Mr. 






Thuc child o£ Rewind. 


Muskrat’s Hole seems sunny. I shall look at it, I think. Are you coming, 
Cherry? We could walk along together.” 

' Cherry got up slowly, she couldn’t crawl very far. She was tired all 
over. Paws tired, head tired, tail tired, Chuck tired. Where was Mr. 
Mouse going? He was a dull creature. She would almost rather starve 
right here. Still, Mr. Mouse was well known. They might meet some 
one who would understand. Mr. Mouse was still squeaking about holes. 
He was rather careful, he squeaked — about getting a new one. He was 
afraid Mr. Muskrat’s would have water in the cellar. He had seen a very 
good hole in the corn-field, but that really belonged to the Field-mouse 
family. It would do only for summer. He felt it would be better to get a 
winter and a stimmer hole. Mr. Mouse squeaked on. Cherry trudged 
behind him. She had stopped looking for home. She should never see 
it again. She never even sniffed. What was the use? She had stopped 
thinking, she was too tired. 

The child of the Wind came by. Little Breeze was her name. She 
seemed to bring some soft little noises with her. Little Breeze blew a kiss 
at Cherry. It made her feel better. The soft little noises grew louder. 
At first Cherry heard them without thinking, then a thought came. She 
seemed to have heard them before. Some of them were mumbly noises. 
Soft and wooly. They got nearer and nearer. Cherry thought about them 
more and more. They grew louder. What did the noises say? They 
were singing noises. Listen! « 



We have lost our Cherry Chuck 
Where, oh where's our sister? 
Nothing’s nice since Cherry’s gone 
Squashes, how we’ve missed her. 

Chestnut’s mitten’s got a hole, 
Everything’s all dusty 
Eat our beets unpiclcled now. 
Weeds grow large and lusty. 


The noises grew louder and louder as Cherry went on. 

Peachy wears an un-brushed tail, 
Sarah needs some dresses. 
Grandpapa has lost his hat 
Just where, no one guesses. 





SLcwas Lome? 

Then the noises grew sadder and the singing came very softly to Cherry’s ears. 


We have lost our Cherry Chuck 
Where, oh where’s our sister? 
Nothing’s nice since Cherry’s gone. 
Squashes , how we’ve missed her. 


And there on the top of the Chuck’s little Hill, in a sa'd little row, sat Wood 
3d and Chestnut and Peachy and Sarah Mud-Turtle. 

Cherry was at home. 


TB 




ARTY, PARTY,” sang the birds. 
“Party, party,” hummed Mr. Mos- 
quito. 

Every bird and flower and blade of 
grass knew about the party. The grass said 
it would even be willing to be mowed, to go. 
As for the flowers, they begged to be picked. 

Every one knew Cherry was at home. 
Even Chestnut had hurried around to tell 
all the Animals. It was a slow hurry. 




Sarah Mud -Turtle had crawled over, ryQf 


*1U yl! 



all alone, to Mr. Chip Munk’s wall to tell 
him. As for Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., he had 
called on the Browntails himself and invited 
them to the party. 

Every pasture was full of scamperings 
and scurryings. The air was full of chirp- 
ings and twitterings. 

Mrs. Robin scrubbed the Robin babies 
until they made crying chirpings. They had 
been used for dusters so long, she felt sure 
they never 
would come 



Party! Party! 


will foil 

C0BW? 


kC 


clean. 

Cherry 

Chuck swept "N if 1 ' 

her tail almost 




tcs 


4/0i> 



off. Living in the Zoo had made her remember house cleaning more than 
ever. She wished Mr. G. Raffe had come back with her. He would have been 
useful for doing out upper shelves. With Mr. G. Raffe in the family, one 
could dust off the roof every day. 

Peachy dressed Sarah Mud-Turtle in her new striped dress. She looked 
sweet and just as much like Mrs. Zebra as a Mud-Turtle can. 

Woodie had new Fire-flies everywhere. New Wild Thyme too. There 
was time in every room in the house. Here and there, were some radishes 
put up to trim the walls a bit, with a few onion tops for green. 

“Hark, what’s that?” said Cherry. 

“Squawk, squawk.” 

Patter, patter, patter. 

“Don’t poke me, you’ll mess the Mouse Quietness I’m carrying,” 
squeaked a little voice. 

“Whirrrr, whirrrr,” came from overhead. 

“Buzzz,” must have been Madame Bee. 

The whole pasture was full of squeakifigs and patterings. The air was 
full of wings. All the Animals for pastures around had their faces turned 
towards the Chuck’s Hill. Toward the Chuck’s PARTY. The Cherry 
Chuck PARTY. The beautiful radish, pickled beets, mustard seed and 
many-other-kinds-of -food PART Y . 

Every Chuck rushed up on the Chuck’s Hill. Even Sarah Mud-Turtle 
rushed. Mud-Turtle rushing. . 

The squeakings came nearer, they could 
hear the patter, patter very plainly now. 

Mr. Mosquito came humming along. 
“Coming, coming,” he hummed. 

^Coming, coming,” shouted Grandpapa 



Chuck, waving his best hat and hastily stepping on Sarah. 

Poor Sarah, Grandpapa had stepped on her so many times, he began to 
think the world was full of Mud-Turtles. 

“Great Squashes, how many dolls are there?” he grumbled, falling down 
the hill, he was in such a hurry. 

Every animal in the pasture world was there, except, of course, the 
B. Wow Dogses and Mrs. Pussy Cat. As Cherry said, she hated to leave out 
anybody, but a mussy party she wouldn’t have. Mrs. Pussy Cat always 
mussed a party. Squawk and Squawkanna looked lovely in white. The 
Browntails were all there. They thought they might as well move that 
day, so they brought all their band boxes and trunks and piled them in the 
Syringa forest. Mr. Browntail brought along his umbrella. 

Mr. Mouse was looking well. He brought a huge box of Mouse Quiet- 
ness, thinking the party might need it. 

The PARTY began at once. Why wait? 

There were games and races and music and food. 

Such music ! The Birds all sang. Mr. Mosquito hummed a lovely tune 
called “Bites.” Squawk and Squawkanna would sing a round. They wanted 
to sing the “Three Blind Mice,” but they didn’t dare, for fear of hurting Mr. 
Mouse’s feelings. As he wasn’t blind, nobody could see why, but they were 
such polite Geese children they changed it to “Three Blind Cats,” which 
didn’t seem right at all. 

And the games! Animals with paws played Bean Pawridge Hot. 
Animals with just feet and bills played Drop the Rubber Mitten. Chestnut 


lent his for the game. Several Animals, among them Grandpapa Chuck 
played Go to Sleep Against the Chimney, a nice quiet game. 

There was only one race, but that was between Sarah Mud-Turtle 
and Miss Snail. It lasted all the afternoon, so there was always something 
at which to look. 

All the Chucks helped set the PARTY out near the Chimney. There 
were pickled beets and radishes and cabbages. Mustard seed and chick 
weed salad for the birds. Great pieces of Snappy Cheese for Mr. Mouse. 
Hickory nuts, walnuts, beech nuts, and doughnuts for Chip Munk. 

Finally, when everything was ready, without squeaking a word, Mr. 
Mouse let the Mouse Quietness out of the box. Not a squeak, not a hum. 

Grandpapa Chuck got up and Mr. W. Chuck, Jr. and Wood 3d and 
Chestnut and Peachy and Sarah Mud-Turtle and last of all, Cherry-Chuck 
herself. 

Then all of a sudden, Mr. Mouse gave a loud squeak. Every bird burst 
out singing and every Animal w T ho couldn’t sing, squeaked and those that 
couldn’t squeak, hummed and the w r ord they were all singing and squeaking 
and humming was “Cherry, Cherry, Cherry.” 

“Three squeaks for Cherry,” squeaked Mr. Mouse. 

“Three squeaks for Cherry Chuck, granddaughter of Mr. Wood Chuck, 
daughter of Mr. W. Chuck, Jr., sister of Wood 3d and Chestnut and Peachy 
Chuck, Aunt of Sarah Mud-Turtle.” 

“Three squeaks, three sings, three hums for Cherry Chuck.” There 
w r as a great noise from all the Animals and way, way off dow 7 n the lane, it 
seemed as if there came a murmur of voices from the Zoo. From Mrs. 
Cinnamon Bear and Mr. L. E. Phant and Mr. Lion. “Three growls, three 
trumpets, three roars, for Cherry— for Little Cherry Chuck.” 



Good-bye for just a little while, 

I wish you pickled beets and luck. 
Be good, eat • radishes, and smile, 
Your busy, 

Cherry Chuck. 

jj'jOp— i »■ 





(Sfiutkx/Jc&ySrncwJay'tfe 



Uftfi/ofllcll/fecii. to all the little John Martiners and the big 
* John Martiners and their grandpapas and dolls 

and best hats and pickled beets an’ neverything ! Cherry and Chestnut 


and Wood 3rd and Peachy and Grandpapa and Mr. W. Chuck Jr. and 


Sarah Mud-Turtle are all sending this letter. Every one of them. 

We were desolated to leave you in July, but we just couldn’t help it. 


The Wild Thyme was pointing to the time we go to bed for the winter. 
Our going to bed is such a lot of work. Of course, there are a lot of us, 
anyway. One, two, three, four, five, six and a mud-turtle besides. We had 
to stop doing everything else and grow fatter and. fatter and fatter every 


day. It is a great deal of work to get fat. You grow T thin faster than 


you get fat. It is so much trouble getting food. 

Supposing you meet Father Cross-Patch and Mr. B. Wow Dog both 
in one morning when you are out getting a few bites of radishes or half a 
dozen potatoes. Of course you run off those potatoes in five minutes. It 
is amazing how many potatoes it takes to make a pound of Chuck, even 
of a little Chuck. As for a pound of Grandpapa Chuck, it must take 
more’n a million potatoes. 

Everybody set out to get food. Chestnut got more potatoes than you 
could count. Grandpapa got the same number of unpickled beets. Cherry 
pickled them for him. We had seven or eleven meals a day and fourteen 
on Sundays. You see, all Winter we get no meals at all. Chipmunk got 
the thought in his head about our getting fatter, and brought round some 
nuts. 

Cherry had to get our beds ready. All the blankets had to go to the 
cleaners, Mrs. Pussy-Cat, Inc. She did them off with her tongue. Mr. 



tforfrctd of TKft.Smui ~ ( &at 
•/ p J 

with, ntewMAtcj xxpmMon. 




Mouse did not like our asking Mrs. Pussy-Cat to do them. He felt that 
Mr. Bear or any other Animal with a good tongue could do them quite 
as well. Cherry liked the neatness of Mrs. Pussy-Cat’s tongue. She said 
she liked to please Mr. Mouse, but in a matter of tongue no gentleman 
Animal could do as well as a lady Animal. Mrs. Pussy-Cat said she had 
always found Mr. Mouse a nuisance. She would like to get rid of him. 
Altogether, getting the blankets cleaned was far from pleasant. 

Pillows, too. Chestnut liked a feather pillow. He thought that 
Squawk and Squawkanna might 
spare a few feathers. They ran after 
Chestnut when he tried to pull out 
a few, unbeknownst. Mr. Crow 
happened by, and he tried him. 

Mr. Crow pecked at Chestnut and 
croaked terribly. Chestnut decided 
on a pine pillow, feathers were not as 
soft as he thought they were. So far, 

feathers had scratched a good deal. t He 

Sarah Mud-Turtle felt that she must pecked 

have a special muddy bed of her own. dud 

croaked, 

terribly; 


‘ It took poor Cherry just about 
forever to get us all tucked into bed. 
Every one as fat as fat could be. 
Grandpapa Chuck fairly stuffed with 
pickled beets, Chestnut with a rub- 
ber mitten on each paw in case he 
woke up and got lonesome. 

But this letter is ’specially to 
tell you to look for us on Candlemas Day. The second of February. 
We shall be out that day to see about Spring. Whether she will be 
early or not. She has a bad habit of being late. 

The Wild Thyme is all set to wake the Fire Flies that morning. Then 
they will put on their lights and we shall all get up. Then we shall pad, 




'V'lJlH- 




pad out the front door. We shall go very slowly and sleepily and groan- 
ingly because of waking up. Then we shall peer all round to see if our 
shadows are there, too. Grandpapa's big, enormous shadow’ and Peachy’s 
little one and Sarah Mud-Turtlfe’s funny round one. 

If they are there, w T e shall just roll back into bed. There is a horrid 
old saying that calls us Ground-Hogs. It makes us feel like biting and 
scratching to be called that. The W. Chuck family — Ground-Hogs. So 
rude ! The old saying says, if we see our shadows on Candlemas Day, we 
go back to sleep again for another six weeks. The saying is perfectly true. 
If we find our shadows, we know the flowers won’t wake up very soon, and 
what’s the use without flowers? Spring is going to be late again. To tell 
the truth, in* the country where we live, Spring hardly ever gets up early. 
She stays in bed and takes drinks of warm rain and you think she never 
will wake up. But when she does, my, but she does it quickly ! One day 






she is asleep with a little brown coverlet, and the next day the world is full 
of waked up green things. 

We might about as well stay in bed, she is always so late. Still, all 
our grandpapas and great-grandpapas and aunts and cousins have always 
done it, waked up to look around, and we feel we must, too. 

So, look for us on Candlemas morning, so we can all wave paws at 
each other. Watch and see if you can find our shadows, because if you 
can’t, Spring is waking up, and we shall be back all the sooner with some 
new stories. There’s lots more to tell you about us. 

Don’t look for us in city parks, or avenues, or shops, or where Animals 
like Farmer Cross-Patch are gathered together. Watch for us in pine woods 
and where the birches bend over to kiss the earth. Where the blue-berry 
bushes gather, and the partridge berries crawl along the ground. The spot 
in the spruces, where the fairy Christmas trees grow. 

Look for us there and when we see you, Grandpapa will wave his best 
cap (his best hat is in storage) and Chestnut his rubber mittens, and we’ll 
all give one glad and glorious squeak together — for Spring. 


i Cm - 

>v. her 

SARAft MuDtuRtLE^' MARK- 


t/ciityi by P q n Q -t-r rLt- S> \^xLcLciruj !4rruj-ur\^ 



S OFTLY, softly the lilacs are waving 
Mouse Quietness. The syringa forest ’s 
waking. The lane is full of rustlings. 
Soft, softly rustlings. Something is moving. 
Such a quietness, such a gentle, gentle quiet- 
ness. Such a sweet smelling, peaceful quiet- 
ness. ' 

The lane is full of movings. Tfyere are 
paws and tails there. They are waving, 
waving Good-bye. Chucks’ paws and tails; 
moving, moving down the lane. 

There’s a singing in the hedges. The 
Birds are looking out to see. Furry Chucks 
are moving down the lane. The air is sweet, 
so sweet. The trees are rustling back and 
forth from leaf to leaf. The world is newly 
making. Hear the pad of little feet. 

Softly Chucks are moving down the lane. 
Back comes a Mouse Quietness. Good-bye 
it breathes. It fills the lane. No paws and 
tails are waving now. 

For Spring is gently, gently calling and 
the Chucks have gone at her call. The furry, 
furry Chucks are gone. 




















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JOHN MARTIN’S HOUSE, Inc. 
128 West 58 Street, New York 







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